Angel of Mine
by Petals Open to the Moon
Summary: Renata is no ordinary girl. Her uncle knows this, and he has his duty to perform. How long will she be able to evade the powerful Volturi's grasp, and will she resist once initiated? More than life awaits these eyes, so long accustomed to corruption.
1. Prologue

**And so... we begin another journey (while I scramble to finish the others). This is merely one of many ideas that are coming, and most likely to be put up on FF within the next few months - although perhaps not finished. Volturi fans, I think you will like this story. As for you historical freaks, FORGIVE ME! Italy not being an official country until the 1800s is only one of the errors you will most likely find in here. **

.**.. But don't stop reading! Here we go... **

* * *

><p>"<em>Starved for so long of beauty and always dreaming<em>

_of it… she loves him instantly. [And] because she _

_loves him, she is not afraid of him…" _

_(Tanith Lee) _

**~ Prologue ~**

**1705, London **

_We'll drink and make merry_

_Our voices will carry_

_To England, to France_

_Come dance, lady, dance!_

_..._

_You're drunken on laughter_

_Sweet, pretty maid mine_

_Your husband has left, but_

_We know he's a swine_

_..._

_He botched on the bargain_

_Your money he'll keep_

_His character's low_

_As my pockets are deep_

_..._

_So we'll drink and make merry_

_Our voices will carry_

_To England, to France_

_Come dance, lady, dance!_

The Green Eagle tavern was louder than usual that afternoon, but the London townspeople didn't mind. Sooner or later, someone was bound to come stumbling out, cursing his hangover. Then the rest would follow, blind and stupid as cattle without a herder. Until then, though, the noise choked the air, punctuated by screams of laughter.

A little girl stood in the street, watching the three men singing outside the place. Her foot tapped silently. The melody was pretty. She edged closer, coming almost up to one man's elbow. Music was never played where she lived. Who could afford it?

"Ah, that's a pretty maid there, to be sure," one of them laughed.

The man closest to her looked down. "Hallo, lass," he said cheerfully. "Fancy a tune, do ye?" He was a big man, with a rich, bass voice.

The girl smiled, singing softly. "'To England, to France. Come dance, lady, dance.'"

"She's a regular lark!" they crowed. The big one scooped her up on his lap. "Ye'll sing for me, darlin', won't ye?"

She nodded. "Can I have some?" she asked, pointing to the glasses.

The sun burned high in the sky, rare for London's fog. A lady hurried down an avenue not two blocks away. People scurried in her wake; partly because she was so richly-dressed, and partly because of the dark scowl on her face. She was of that class of haughty beauties, who spend so much of their time wrecking men's hearts. She glared at the sun every now and then, as if blaming it for her troubles.

"Excuse me!" she called, touching a passing workman. "Am I on the right way to Lornen Street?"

"Ye're on it now," he jeered.

"Mind your tongue," she snapped back. "Have you seen a little girl around here? Seven or eight years of age? Dark hair?"

"This here's London, ma'am. Ye're askin' me to find _one _brat?"

She shoved a miniature in his face. "Well?" she demanded.

He chuckled, pushing his hat back. "Well, innit fortunate? I _do _happen to know her."

"Yes?" the woman said eagerly.

"'The Little Mouse,' they calls her. She's always wondering about the streets, looking for summat to steal, no doubt. Do ye need help findin' her?"

"Isn't that the idea?" she snapped. She slipped something into his palm. "And twice more if you find her quickly. There's a driver waiting for me."

He darted down the streets, her following, with the money clutched in his fist. Where was the little mouse today? He passed the Green Eagle, cursing under his breath at the drunkards, then halted. He turned back. There she was, spilling beer down her chin as she attempted to lift the huge glass.

"Give us that!" he said harshly, snatching the child from the man. "Have ye gone mad, givin' the girl drink?"

The big man merely laughed again, slapping a comrade on the shoulder.

_They're drunk as the dead, _the workman thought, irritated. The girl was squirming in his arms. "Put me down," she said in her queer, soft voice. "Put me down _now."_

The lady watched them silently. She waited until the child was brought to her, then glanced down coldly into the little, inquisitive eyes. "Do you know who I am?" she asked.

"No," the child replied.

"I'm your aunt, and I've come to take you away. Do you have any things?"

"Just herself, ma'am!" laughed the workman cheerfully. "Ain't nothin' for a lassie to keep 'round here."

"Take your money and go away." She dismissed him with a gesture, still gazing at the child. "You will follow me now. There's a ride waiting for us."

The girl followed silently. She had brown stains of liquor down her dress, and her hands were sticky. Her hair was a tangled mess. Her clothes were uncivilized. She had no one else to obey, so she followed. The rich lady led her to a small carriage, and she was bundled inside with more haste than care.

"Well!" the woman, supposedly her aunt, ejaculated. "We're on our way at last. I for one thought I'd never find." She wrinkled her lovely nose. "Awful town. I shan't come here again."

The girl stared, transfixed by her satin dress. It looked so soft…

"Stop that!" the lady snapped. "What are you trying to do, get me dirty?"

"I'm sorry…. Aunt."

"Adrina," added the woman. "Aunt Adrina when we're in company, but _ma'am _when we're alone. Do you understand?"

The girl nodded.

"Oh, I almost forgot," said the woman carelessly. "Your name, child? Have you got one?"

"The landlady calls me—"

"Do you think I care for an old woman's thoughts? What is your _real _name?"

The child gave a tiny sigh. "Renata," she whispered.

Adrina said nothing. The child assumed she didn't like the name, and fell into equal silence. She looked out the window, and saw nothing but fog. The sun had disappeared.

Three days later, the two companions stepped off yet another carriage into mulling crowds.

* * *

><p><strong>Verona, Italy <strong>

"I forgot the heat," Adrina muttered. She dabbed at her face for the millionth time, ignoring the child beside her. Renata didn't mind. She was used to it, making herself inconspicuous. Besides, there was so much to see: funny old men toting wares, workers hefting new beams onto buildings tiled in red, and baskets and baskets of fresh, gleaming fruit. Her stomach growled. She had not eaten since yesterday. Adrina had forgotten that, too.

"Come on," said her ward hurriedly. She grasped the child's wrist and they were off, playing hide-and-seek through the packed Italian marketplace. Adrina cuffed a passer-by, demanding something in an angry voice. Renata looked up at her, bewildered. What on earth was she saying. The poor child didn't realize her own heritage to this country, so lost had she been in the slums of London since birth. She watched Adrina, trying to pay close attention, but she was still caught off guard when the woman yanked her into the waiting hansom.

"Sit back," she ordered. "And don't touch the seat with your dirty hands." Her own white hands were protected in fine leather gloves, sealed with a jeweled clasp at the wrist. She had no regard for the child's wardrobe… at least not until they reached Verona. Someone else would be paying for it soon enough.

Despite Adrina's objections, the girl couldn't help pressing her face against the window. She had never seen so much beauty—so much rich, untarnished _nature_—before. She lifted a small hand, tracing the green hills as they sloped by. Vineyards followed, and then fields of lazy cattle bumbling into each other. She had never seen cattle before. People streamed out of their houses, parents fondly scolding children. They were tanned, smiling, and fat with goodness and healthy living. It was such a strong contrast to Renata's recent surroundings—she could hardly repress a gasp of surprise. She had grown up thinking all children were burdens. They were dirty urchins placed in the world at the inconvenience of others, and if they _did _grow up, it was only to work the streets or factories in an equally miserable existence.

Had Adrina been a kinder woman, her heart might have ached to see the stark wonder on the child's face. But she was lost in her thoughts (primarily of herself), and said nothing except to slap Renata's fingers away from the velvet seat occasionally. An hour or so of silence passed, broken only by a quick stop to get some clothes for the girl. Adrina did not scrimp. It was a simple, black dress, as she thought befitted a child of that age. Her wild hair was left untouched. She could bathe, etc. once they reached their destination. They climbed back in the hansom, and more silence ensued. Another hour passed, when a large, sprawling estate came into view.

"Thank God!" the woman breathed in relief. She tapped the side of the carriage, signaling the driver to stop. The passengers alighted, and she quickly walked up the long, gravel lane, dragging the child with her. The latter's eyes fairly goggled as she gazed up at the house. Was this where she was going to live? Was this where her "aunt" lived, or was she going to leave her?

Her feet stumbled in their new shoes. She didn't complain about the dress, however ugly it was. It was nicer than the rags she was so acquainted with. Colossal hedges rose up on either side of her, flanked by luscious blooms and vines. The sun bore down on everything, making it seem like an ethereal heaven.

"Is this were the king lives?" she asked innocently.

Adrina glanced down in annoyance. "Of course not. Be quiet."

She thumped the large brass knocker. The sound echoed. The house was obviously as spacious as it looked. A manservant answered the door. He looked at Adrina critically. "Yes?"

"None of your nonsense, man. Is the _Signor _at home?"

"He is."

She bristled under his insolent stare. "Well? Can't you tell I'm in a hurry? I wish to see him."

"The _Signor _does not wish to be interrupted."

"I wish to see him _now," _she snapped. "Tell him it's important."

The man didn't move. "We stand on ceremony here," he said quietly. "That applies to you as well, madam." He led them inside, gesturing to a settee. "You will wait."

He left. Adrina shuddered with anger. "Of all the cheek…" She dragged Renata down beside her. "I don't know _why _he insists on this nonsense."

"Beautiful," Renata whispered.

"What?" the woman snapped.

She touched the settee. "Beautiful. What is it?"

Adrina seized her hands. "A couch, you stupid girl. Don't touch anything."

The little girl looked at her with questioning eyes. What a strange week it had been! One moment she was waking up, having her ears cuffed by the landlady, and the next she was here, sitting in this house that looked more like a palace. Had she been older and a more obstinate child, she would have questioned the woman beside her, possibly even demanded some proof they were related. But she was quiet, thus obedient. This life was happier than anything she'd known so far, despite the woman's short temper. Why ruin things?

Adrina glared down at her. Renata looked away, staring at the ceiling instead. The lady was beautiful, therefore looking nothing like herself. She had always been scrawny, with more elbows and knees than fat on her bones. Her hair was black like her eyes. She had an olive complexion, but the veiled sky of London had prevented her from tanning. She wasn't beautiful at all. Just a "little mouse."

The servant had walked back into the room. Adrina pinched her, and they both rose.

A man appeared in the doorway. He stood there for a moment, eyes half-closed, then signaled to the servant to leave. Only then did he look at his guests, and a slow smile spread across his face.

"Adrina," he said softly.

He may as well have stepped from a painting. His figure was exquisite, perfectly tailored to fit his long, slender body. His face, like his manner, was quiet and unassuming. He looked Italian, certainly, but he was too pale. The blood literally looked as if it had been sucked from his skin.

_I must get my hands on that powder he uses, _Adrina schemed to herself. She held out a hand, echoing his greeting with a smile. "Luca, darling! You should speak to your servants. They're _really _getting impertinent."

"Nothing satisfies you, Adrina," he chuckled. He brushed her fingers with his lips. "I see you brought someone with you this time."

"Only what you asked for."

"Ah…" The beautiful man smiled at Renata, who peeked at him from behind Adrina's skirts. "Is she frightened of me?" he asked, amused.

"Oh, no, she's just dazzled, I'm sure." She winked coyly at him. "Everyone is, you know."

"How terrifying. I wouldn't want such a reputation. How old is she?"

"Eight years."

Luca looked down at the girl again. "My dead niece's daughter, and _you _look more like her, Adrina, than this child ever will."

"Does it matter?"

"Of course not. It was merely an observation." He smiled. "Such dark eyes. They will be marvelous when she grows older."

Renata hid her face again, but Adrina pulled away. Her fingers clutched the child's bony shoulders, dragging her out in front of the strange man. "Greet your uncle," she whispered.

The child said nothing.

"Do you have _any _idea how impertinent you are?" Adrina hissed in her ear. She looked up, smiling brightly. "Forgive her, Luca. If you only knew what I've dealt with, keeping her."

Luca hesitated to respond. His eyes were like bottomless black wells, probing the face in front of him. He touched the little girl's chin, and she did not pull away. "Is she always this silent?" he asked.

"Most of the time." Adrina rolled her eyes, heavily-painted. "It is like being with a corpse, I assure you."

"Perhaps, but silence can conceal many strengths."

She scoffed. "Or weaknesses."

Luca touched the frightened, malnourished face, silently calculating, then pulled away. "I will take her," he said quietly.

She stared. "What?"

"Are you ready to leave her now?" he continued. "I have guests arriving soon, Adrina, and I don't like to keep them waiting. Please decide."

She recovered herself quickly. "Oh! Oh, yes. But of _course_ you may keep her. I would be her guardian myself, only—"

"You are far too occupied," he finished for her. His eyes were laughing. "I understand perfectly. I will take her off your hands today?"

"Yes, if it's not too much trouble…" Adrina snapped her fingers. A coachman appeared in the sun-bleached hallway, nodding to her. She turned around, smiling. "Farewell then, my dear Luca. You have my thanks."

"_Addio,_ Adrina."

The girl watched her go. There had been no farewell for _her. _Only a hand passed through the rowdy curls, and the lingering, hateful scent of French perfume. Luca had left, called away by a servant. She gazed around her, at the walls and walls of frozen architecture and heartbreakingly beautiful paintings. She felt a small stirring in her soul; stirrings of… of what?

"Ah, little one." The strange man was back, bringing with him the memory of ice imprinting her skin. She took a step away. Those hands could be cruel, could they not?

"You know, _bambina, _I have not even asked your name." He smiled kindly. "Suppose you tell me?"

She looked at him curiously. The walls were silent. They looked at him, too, windows instead of eyes.

Luca knelt on the marble. "I will not hurt you," he whispered.

She was too young to understand. But she spoke. "Where did my aunt go?"

"She left, my child. Forever. You won't see her again." He watched her closely. "Does that please you?"

"Yes. I don't like her."

Luca laughed. _"Perfetto! _I love an honest child. Don't worry. You will be well protected here, little one. There's nothing to fear anymore."

She touched his cheek. It was soft… so very soft. She'd never seen anything as beautiful as this stranger, not even the walls and rich, flowered tapestries. His eyes were black like hers, and his hair was light and soft in her innocent fingers. This_ is my uncle? _she thought.

"What do you think, Renata?" he asked gently. "Would you like to stay here with me?"

"Can I be your daughter?"

"You can be my niece, which is the same thing."

"Promise me?"

He was delighted by her. "I promise."

She let him lift her. The satin of his coat felt good against her skin. Her black curls tumbled onto his shoulder. He kissed her. "Your name, little one?"

"Renata," she peeped softly.

Luca smiled. "Welcome to my home, _cara. _It is yours now."


	2. Visitor

***Caravaggio was real, but this painting is made-up on purpose. I'm sure I'm not the only one who envisions ancient vampires hording classical treasures the world has never seen. They may have stolen da Vinci's as well, for all we know. ^^ Review! **

* * *

><p><strong>Visitor <strong>

**1716, Verona **

Renata laid her quill down, stretching. She had been conjugating Latin verbs since early that morning, and her brain begged for a rest. She blew on the ink gently. Her handwriting was beautiful, showing up clearly on the creamy white of the page. There were not many who could both read _and _write—certainly not many women, anyway. She felt very lucky to have such knowledge.

Her black eyes sparkled. _"Che peccato," _she murmured softly. _What a pity. _It was a gorgeous day outside, and she wasn't going to waste another minute of it buried in Caesar. Her deft fingers closed the desk, and she tripped lightly to the door. She could already smell the fresh, sweet air, and someone was giggling in the servant's hallway.

"Uncle?" she called. There was no answer. She walked downstairs, opening the kitchen door. "Maria, do you know where the _Signor _is?"

The maid pointed out the window with her knife. "I saw him in the garden, talking with someone."

Renata rushed to the front door, going out into the vivid grounds. This news didn't surprise her. Visitors poured out of her uncle's home day and night. He had given her the most secluded, private room in the house for that very reason. When she was younger, sneaking around the house at night, she would hear voices coming from his study, sometimes past midnight. He was always busy, never seeming to sleep...

She heard Luca talking, and turned the corner. Immediately, something cannon-balled into her, almost knocking her over. She looked down into the fresh, tanned faces of the Felatti children. They pushed her under an arboretum trellis, laughing.

"Bella! Giono!" She kissed them. "What? Is your father here?"

"No," they giggled. _"Nonna _came with us, but she's in the house you play with us?"

"Renata?"

She looked up. Her uncle stood in front of her. He was always appearing out of nowhere, but she was used to it. "Yes, Uncle?"

"I have not seen your Latin this morning. Did you finish?"

"Yes."

He smiled. _"Bene. _Look after these little darlings for me, would you?"

"Of course." She kissed his cold cheek, wishing he would get out in the sun more. He walked back to the summer house where someone sat, waiting. She turned back to the children, taking their little hands. "Let's go visit the stables, shall we?"

They cheered, especially little Bella, who adored horses. Giono was much too young to ride, but he was happy to watch his sister mount one of the ponies, kicking it gently into a trot. Renata held the bridle, leading the two of them around in a circle. The day waned as they invented one rowdy game after another. The children grew tired. Renata lifted Giono, taking Bella's sweaty hand.

"Let's go find your _nonna," _she said softly.

"Can't I ride the pony again?"

"The pony is tired, little one. Perhaps I can find some sweets for you two."

She was met at the door by _Signora_ Felatti herself. She had beautiful white hair, curled crisply by the heat. "I'm terribly sorry," she apologized. "Time quite slipped away from me."

"It's alright, _Signora. _I was going to ask the cook to give them something. Is that fine with you?"

"Oh, yes, of course. I will be out in the carriage. Could you bring them to me when they're finished?"

Renata nodded. The old lady touched her shoulder. "I wish I could have talked with your uncle longer. His company is so refreshing." She sighed a little, walking slowly down the marble steps into the courtyard. Her maidservant followed her, carrying her valise.

Renata led the children to the kitchen, but Giono still did not wake. She pressed another cake into Bella's palm. "Give this to your brother later," she said kindly. "And tell your parents I was sorry to miss them."

"Oh, _they're_ not sorry," Bella said, sucking her fingers. _"Mama _says we give her headaches, so she is at her salon today. Our father went with her."

Renata smiled, saying nothing. Lira, another maid, followed her with Giono out to the carriage where their grandmother was waiting. She pressed Bella closely before helping her in. She always had a soft spot in her heart for someone neglected. Her own early memories were far from pleasant.

"Thank you," called _Signora _Felatti, waving as the carriage pulled away.

Renata waved. She felt very hot and exhausted from playing with the children. And where was her uncle? It was late afternoon by now. He had already missed her usual lesson, also neglecting to show her a new painting he had bought.

"Uncle?" she called, searching for him yet again.

"He went inside, _signorina," _Lira said quietly, still beside her. "The same gentleman was with him."

Renata turned to her. "Who was it?"

"I don't know. I've never seen him before."

"Where did they go?"

"In his study, I think. Shall I tell Maria to begin preparing dinner?"

"Yes, yes." Renata ran down the gravel path, heedless of her flying skirts. She slowed down upon reaching the hall of the second floor. She could hear voices, but they were extremely faint. She pressed her ear to her uncle's door, listening.

"… if you're not willing to cooperate," a deep voice was saying.

_It must be the stranger, _she thought. _Who is he? What is so important that my uncle missed our lesson? _

"I never said that," she heard her uncle interrupt. "You're too impatient, Eleazar."

"As I have good cause to be. _They_ are not patient, as you know."

"Of course I do." She heard soft footsteps. Her uncle's voice came from further away, probably by the windows. He always kept them closely shuttered, blocking out any light. Renata removed her shoes slowly, setting them carefully beside her. She was anxious not to make a noise.

The stranger—Eleazar?—was speaking again. "Luca," he said softly. "She's extraordinary. How could you have missed such potential?"

"You sound like Aro," her uncle replied tightly. "How long has he been cooing over my niece?"

"Oh, come, Luca. How could he know? I haven't left yet, have I?"

There was a pause. Then her uncle spoke. "Will you tell him?"

"Of course. He'll find out, anyway."

"Why?" she heard her uncle whisper. The pleading in his voice caught her by surprise. "Why must he take her from me? She's the only one I've kept this long."

Eleazar's voice was firm. "It's my job, Luca. The Volturi are my masters, just as they are yours."

"I'm not bound to their contract," her uncle snapped.

"Really? I wouldn't sow such attitudes, my friend. They're particularly dangerous."

"She's just a _child, _Eleazar!"

Renata missed the stranger's reply. She strained harder. Her uncle's voice was furious again. "No, I haven't forgotten them. How could I?" He laughed harshly. "I can see where _you _stand on this issue, Eleazar, if you agree with allowing mere _ten-year-olds_ to join that vicious rabble of—"

"I wasn't initiated then," the stranger interrupted. His temper seemed to be rising as well. "I'm tired of trading insults with you. This is my first warning, Luca, and my last. Give them what they want, and you'll be left in peace."

"And if I don't?"

Eleazar spoke softly. "Then we'll take her by force."

There was another pause, longer this time.

"Well?" demanded the stranger.

Luca's voice was a whisper. "She's listening to us."

Renata grabbed her skirts, stumbling back, but the door was already open before her. A tall man stood there, his eyes dark with amusement. His face was smooth and handsome, with the riotous hair peculiar to that country. "May I?" he asked. He helped her up gently. "Aren't you a little old for this sort of routine?"

To hide her embarrassment, she attacked him. "You've taken up enough of my uncle's time," she said firmly. "I have every right to know what's going on."

The man smiled, and she noticed something that struck her as very odd. Not only did he have the same pallor as her uncle, but he moved the same way as well. They could have been brothers.

"Renata." Her uncle came up behind her, holding her against him. She noticed a trembling in his fingers. "I thought you were with the children, sweetheart."

"I was. Their grandmother took them home."

"Renata, I don't know if you've met Eleazar. He's a friend of mine."

She doubted it. Eleazar held out a hand, but it dropped to his side when he met her cold stare. "Why such a long face?" he chuckled. "This day has been very strange. I don't usually warrant such strong emotions."

She didn't like how he looked at her. His eyes were wide, and his lips were parted in silent astonishment.

"Why are you looking at me?" she asked, irritated.

Her uncle kissed her forehead. "He's merely admiring your beauty, my dear."

She scoffed. If she was beautiful, then pigs could fly. "We don't want you here," she said to the man angrily. "You've upset my uncle, and you're upsetting me. Please leave now."

Eleazar's smile widened. "Well, if I am _that _unwelcome…" He glanced at Luca, touching his fingers to his black vest. "Until next time," he said meaningfully. The door closed gracefully behind him, and they were alone. Renata mumbled something under her breath.

"Don't say that," her uncle said harshly. "We mustn't lose our manners, Renata, simply because we dislike someone."

"I don't care. What did he want, anyway?"

His back was to her. "I was under the impression you heard."

"I did, but I'm still…" She laid her hand on his shoulder. _"Look_ at me, Uncle."

He did, and her hand slipped to her side. His face frightened her. She had never seen him that way before. He actually looked ill.

"What's wrong with you?" she whispered.

He shook his head. "I…" He backed away, sinking into a chair. "Renata, I can't…"

She watched him, horrified for a moment, then strode quickly to the windows. He looked up at her. "What are you doing?"

"Opening them. You're in the darkness too much." A shred of light entered the room.

"Stop!" He flashed in front of her, yanking the cord away. The tiny sliver vanished. "Forgive me," he whispered, seeing her frightened face. He took her hand. "Come sit beside me, child."

She followed him, feeling numb. He stroked her hand, gliding back and forth. _"You_ are not frightened of me, are you?" he asked tenderly.

"Of course not, Uncle."

"Yet you're frightened of Eleazar?"

"Only what he's done to you." She sighed. "Why won't you tell me anything? What did that whole conversation mean?"

His face looked paler than ever. "That depends on what you heard."

"Something about me, I think, and you being bound to a contract. You're not bound to _anyone, _Uncle," she insisted. "You're master of your own house. How dare anyone say otherwise?" She waited for him to reply, but he only looked at her with those sad eyes. She sighed again. "I don't even care anymore. Let's just go back to the way things were. You still haven't showed me that painting of yours."

"I don't think things will be the same now, Renata," he said, very softly.

She tried again. "Can you review my Latin for me, at least?"

Something flitted across his face, something that made her want to cry. "I suppose I can," he said, rising. "Let's go upstairs."

* * *

><p>Three hours later, they sat at dinner together. Renata picked at her food, feeling listless. Her appetite was like her uncle's tonight. He always made the cook sigh, eating only a little and never touching dessert.<p>

Luca watched her anxiously. "Oh, come," he said, trying to smile. "I know you're hungrier than that."

"Not anymore."

"Your Latin wasn't _that _awful," he teased.

Renata threw her napkin down. "I'm suffocating in here," she complained. "Why do they keep this room so hot?"

"I keep it warm for you," he said softly. "You never told me it was too hot before."

"Forgive me, Uncle," she sighed. "I'm only worried about you."

"I'm fine, my child."

She looked at him squarely. _"Are _you?" Before he could answer, she rose. "I want to see that painting. Could you show me, please?"

He let her take his arm, signaling quietly for Maria to come clear the table. They left the dining room together, Renata's dark tresses mingling with his own. When they reached the main hallway, which dominated the first floor, Luca began to walk about slowly, examining each relic for the piece he wanted. Renata sighed, trying to cleanse her soul of its all too recent darkness.

This was her favorite part of the house. It always had been. It smelled of paint, fresh wood, fresh spice, but never dust. The servants were given strict orders as to that. Each painting and sculpture was kept in beautiful condition, and she knew the names and styles of almost all of them. A favorite of hers hung to her left, tall and resplendent with Renaissance glory. It was a copy of Verrochio's "Baptism of Christ." It had been painted with the help of his two finest pupils, one of them Leonardo da Vinci himself.

Renata gazed up at the divine faces, lost in thought. When she was younger, she'd always believed her uncle had been "born" in a portrait. He was so beautiful, compassionate, and wise. What angel of da Vinci's would not accept him? She had once asked him if he had ever posed for an artist, but he had said "no" rather sharply. Now she was older, and she still found herself wondering whether he was _entirely _human…

"Renata?"

She turned. He was beckoning to her eagerly, some of the former joy restored to his face. She hurried to join him as he bent over a covered frame. He pulled the cloth away gently, and she gasped. He smiled. "Do you like it?"

"'Do I like it?'" she repeated. She touched the gilt frame with incredulous fingers. The canvas was almost too dazzling to look at it. "It's…"

"Beautiful, I know." His eyes were shining, like hers. "It's a genuine Caravaggio."

His niece bent to examine the title, in Latin. *****"_'Young Lovers… Alongside River—Brook,'" _she translated slowly. "Or is it 'young couple?'"

"No, you are right, my dear."

She sighed with delight. It had all the characteristics of a _Caravaggesque _style: rich colors, soft contrasting between dark and light, and an evocative look in each of the lovers' dark, heavy-lidded eyes. The man lay swathed in green brocade, but the woman was fully nude, curling up to him in a sweetly sensual manner. The river seemed to bubble of its own accord. Feeling leapt from the canvas, burning into Renata's breast. Like her uncle, she had always been strongly affected by art.

"This is incredible," she breathed. "But… but where did you find it? I have never seen_ this_ work of his before."

Luca laughed. "That, my love, is a secret. An art collector should be like a magician; he never divulges the origin of his treasures."

"You are teasing me."

"Yes, I am." He drew the cloth gently back over the piece. "I will leave it there for now, but I will ask Samuel to hang it up tomorrow. You can help me find the perfect place for it."

Her joy from the painting faded. He seemed so tired… and why did he keeping looking at her that way? As if she were about to disappear, slipping from his grasp into some dark oblivion. She took his hand, nestling its coldness in hers. "Come," she said softly.

They walked back through the gallery together, through the dining room, and into his darkened study. For the thousandth time, Renata wished her uncle would open the curtains. Did he really enjoy this, hiding away like a mouse in its hole? He'd always done so, of course, but it hadn't truly bothered her until now. Maybe it was the bad lighting in the room, and he wasn't really ill at all. Secretly, she blamed that cursed stranger, Eleazar, for disrupting everything. Her uncle hadn't been the same since.

"So tell me," he said, once he'd settled into his favorite chair. She knelt beside him, resting her chin on his knee. "What shall we study next, do you think? German?"

"Uncle…"

"I like German," he continued, smiling a little. "It is much harsher than our native tongue, but you would excel at it, I am sure."

"Uncle," she repeated firmly.

He looked at her. "Yes, my child?"

She touched his thin cheek. "We don't have to talk," she whispered. "In fact, I'd prefer not to."

"You're worrying about me," he accused.

"Just a little."

"Damn that man," he muttered. His teeth, such an extreme shade of white, clenched together despairingly.

His niece sighed. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, no, my child. Don't blame yourself."

"Promise me, Uncle," she said.

"Anything."

"Promise you won't let him come here again."

"Oh, child…" He sighed heavily. "There is nothing I can do about it."

"Yes, there is. Why are you letting him frighten you so?"

"Listen to me, Renata." He drew her towards him. "Eleazar _will _come back. I cannot help it. He will come back, and he will ask you to come with him."

She jolted to her feet. "Me? What could he want with _me?" _

"Please listen, my child, just for a moment. I know I haven't been the best guardian for you. You wanted a father instead, I'm sure. I've ignored you when you asked me about myself, although it was only for your own safety. I should have done better for you. Forgive me."

"Uncle, how can you say tha—"

"You _must _listen!" he interrupted. His eyes were urgent. "He'll be here tomorrow, for all I know. He will take you to them, to test you, then he'll bring you back to me. If they are pleased with you…" He paused, then continued with effort. "We _must _hope they are disappointed. That is all."

"'They?' A test? What are you _talking _about?" she demanded. "Uncle, I don't—you're _frightening _me. Why will this man take me, and where? Why does it _matter?" _

He rose, encircling her tightly in his arms. She could feel the soft lace of his jabot brushing her skin. His fingers coiled in her hair, cold against her neck. "You are a beautiful woman, Renata," he whispered. "An intelligent, worthy young woman. All these years I have raised you—failing in some respects, perhaps—but I have loved you as my own. I never asked for your trust, and yet you were so willing to give it. Can you not trust me a while longer?"

"But you're not even sure… you said you _hoped." _

"So I did," he said, his voice pained. He kissed her head. "I never fathomed this happening," he said, partly to himself. "I've caused you much grief, my love, by not telling you."

"Telling me _what?"_ she begged. "Uncle, please…"

He opened his mouth, then shook his head. "No, Renata, I can't. It will hurt you, but I've withheld this hell for too long to release it now."

The young girl pulled away, standing by the fire with a thoughtful expression. "I _do _trust you," she said finally. "If it's me this man wants, then I'll go with him, just to get this over with. But first, I want an explanation." She turned to him. "You owe me that much."

Luca sighed. "I have lived too long," he whispered.

"Oh, please. You look young enough to be my brother." She tried to smile, but it faded just as quickly from her face. "I need to know everything, Uncle, if I'm going to do this for you."

"You don't have to go," he pleaded. "Surely they won't force you, like Eleazar said."

She shook her black head. "I don't know who 'they' are. But I need to know."

He stared at her, the firelight dancing over his still, colorless features. "Very well," he said softly. They seated themselves again. "But you must promise, Renata, that no matter what I tell you, no matter what you hear in the future, you will not judge me for what I am—what we _all_ are."

She nodded, scarcely comprehending. Then he began to speak, there in that darkened room, and she felt the blood in her veins turn to ice.


	3. Taken

**Taken **

Renata sat at breakfast the next morning, quiet and subdued. She only spoke to her uncle occasionally, and it was merely to ask for the sugar or water, etc. She could feel his eyes on her while she ate. He wanted to be sure she was taking this well; that he hadn't shocked her terribly.

"Renata?" he asked.

She took a small mouthful of bread. "I am well, Uncle."

"I'm not so sure that you are," he said, still gazing at her earnestly.

"Well, I am." She swallowed, not tasting anything, then pushed her plate away. She looked up at him, at his untouched meal. "It's true," she said. "You never eat anything, do you?"

Luca sighed. "No. I merely pretended to, for your sake."

_Well, you certainly had me fooled. _She made an effort to constrain her bitterness. They'd lived in peace for the past eleven years. There was no sense in lashing at him now. She touched her forehead, burdened suddenly by a headache. There _was _one question, though, that could not be avoided. One that had been tormenting her. "Did you ever…" she drifted off, unsure how to phrase it.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Did you ever… I'm not accusing you, Uncle, it's just…" She bent her head. "Was there ever cause to… to _feed_ on me?"

His breath sucked in sharply. "Certainly not."

"Nor the servants?"

"No one you need worry about, Renata."

"Is it hard?" she whispered, after a pause.

"What?"

"To be around me—close to me."

Luca rose, coming around to her side of the table. "Love exceeds all barriers," he said gently. "I have learned to be my best self with you."

His hand rested on the table. Renata lifted hers, pressing it briefly against his cold skin. A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. "At least now I know why you shelter yourself so," she said. "I remember being afraid for you, all the time. I thought you had some terrible disease and were wasting away, and that someday I would again be left alone in the world."

His black eyes gazed down at her. "Only a disease of the spirit, my child."

Irritation rose up in her. "You're _not _damned!" she cried. She stomped away from the table.

His voice was quiet behind her. "You don't have to believe if you don't want to."

"Do _you _believe?"

"In God? No. In the existence of hell? Yes."

Renata stared out the window blindly. It was a cold day outside, strange for an Italian summer. The colorless morning mist seemed to emanate from the ground instead of the sky. She pressed her burning forehead against the glass. Since last night—the worst night of her life—everything seemed to have taken on a surreal, menacing aspect. Her uncle was a vampire. He had hidden it from her, though she respected his reason. That wasn't what tormented her. It was that other knowledge—that little thing about "the Coven."

"When will they come?" she whispered, turning to him.

Luca stared past her, horror clouding his eyes. "They already have."

Renata whirled, pressing her face to the window, but her uncle had seized her shoulders, pulling her away swiftly. She stumbled against him, realizing suddenly that his lips were moving through her hair, holding her to him.

"It's alright, Uncle," she murmured. "It's alright…" God, how deathly white his lips were!

Samuel was walking past them demurely. Had the knocker sounded? She hadn't heard it. She tried to follow him into the hall, but her uncle stopped her. "Don't go," he pleaded. "He will find us soon enough. Just stay here… stay with me."

She stayed. How could she not? His love wrapped around her, soured a little by their mingled anxiety for each other. She knew she should be thinking of herself, where Eleazar would take her, but she had thought for no one but her uncle.

"Ah! What a touching picture," crooned a dry voice.

Renata flinched. Luca steadied here, forcing a presentable smile on his face. "Demetri, Eleazar," he said slowly. "Just as prompt as I expected."

Eleazar laughed. "Yes, well, you know Aro. He is impatient to meet her."

Both of their eyes, frighteningly bright, fastened onto Renata's pale face. Her uncle had told her about the red; it shouldn't have shocked her so. But she now knew why he had kept such a shade from his features all these years.

The vampire called Demetri fingered a tapestry beside him, exquisitely sewn in gold with the initials "D" and V" on the edge.

Luca made a noise in his throat. "Please don't touch that," he said. "It is very old."

Demetri shrugged. He looked barely older than Renata, with his porcelain features and riotous black curls. He even winked at her, seeming not to notice her revulsion.

"Well, shall we go?" Eleazar said finally. "I don't wish to be rude, but time presses."

"Naturally," Luca said, nodding mechanically. He turned, hiding his niece from their view as he looked at her. His hands stroked the worried lines in her face. "Do what they say," he whispered. "Remain as inconspicuous as possible. Say nothing about yourself unless it's necessary, and _please…" _His hands hurt her face. _"Please _don't make _any_ promises until I see you again."

"Will I?" she asked, trembling.

"Of course," he said harshly. "Why ever not?"

She was pressed, crushed in his cold arms. Then the bitter air of the morning was in her face, and she was being hustled across the grounds of the estate, a hooded figure on either side. The sun disappeared just as abruptly, and she found herself under a grove of chestnut trees. She looked up, shivering and afraid. Eleazar was coming towards her, a cautious smile on his face.

"May I?" he asked softly.

She stared at his outstretched arms. "Is this an insult?" she snapped.

"No, no," he chuckled. "Far from it, dear lady. But it's faster than by carriage, and we _do _have a considerable amount of ground to cover."

Demetri appeared beside her. "Would you prefer me?" he smirked.

She jerked away from him, but it only brought her closer to the other waiting immortal. "Come, come," said Eleazar. "I like to ask permission first, but you may leave me with no choice."

_Obey, _she could hear Luca saying. _Please, Renata. _She glanced at Eleazar darkly. "Very well."

The words were scarcely out of her mouth before a hard pressure snatched her up, and she was being whisked through the air at an inhuman rate. She might have screamed at some point, but any sound was snatched from her lips before it could be heard. Her long hair tore free from its simple twist, whipping about her face. Once she tried to look up, but the blurred landscape only made her stomach lurch uncomfortably. Worse still was the lack of breathing from either vampire—she assumed Demetri was just beside them. She closed her eyes, deathly sick. It was like being thrown from a high precipice, falling through the air, and then realizing the fear was never going to stop, and you would just keep on falling forever.

After what seemed an eternity of whirling winds and restrained nausea, Renata was released, only to stumble headfirst into a crude stone wall. Cold hands caught her.

"Easy does it!" laughed that dry voice. Demetri, no doubt.

"Help keep an eye on her, can't you?" Eleazar said impatiently. "I don't feel like losing my life today."

"As if we weren't already dead," his companion muttered. He helped Renata to her feet. "Don't mind us," he told her. "He seems to think that because he'sAro's bread and butter for finding new recruits, they don't need _me _to track them down."

"Oh, shut up, Demetri."

Demetri cuffed him on the shoulder. "If this girl got away, you wouldn't be so confident, now would you? No, my friend. You _need _me to help find them."

"Yes! Be done with it!"

Renata watched the tall vampire poke around a nearby wall, muttering to himself. She realized for the first time what his accent reminded her of.

"Are you Spanish?" she asked, curious.

Eleazar turned, his good humor returning. _"Si,_ my dear. You'll find I stand out, however. The Coven themselves are Greek by origin."

"I thought they were Itali—"

"He means the ancients," Demetri interrupted. He was eyeing Renata's large, dark eyes appreciatively. She only glared back at him.

"Demetri, stop socializing and bring the girl here."

"I can move by myself," Renata said defiantly. She threw off Demetri's searching fingers, walking over to where Eleazar waited.

The Spanish vampire smiled at his companion, as if to say, _See? She's no fool. _He offered the girl his hand, which she took despite her objections, and they began to descend an old, rather moldy-looking staircase. Renata could not tell where it had come from. He had seemed to simply open the wall. Then again, she hadn't been watching closely.

"Oh!" she shrieked, drawing back a little. A large rat sat on one of the steps, staring at them with baleful red eyes. Demetri seized it, laughing as he pounded the wretched thing to its death against the wall. Much as she hated the creatures, Renata stood aghast at such a display of menace. Eleazar berated him angrily, and they continued. Demetri followed, wiping the pulpy blood from his fingers. The sight of it made her stomach twist again.

"He's showing off for you," Eleazar murmured. "Ignore him. It is the same for every female Coven member."

There were females? Renata didn't say anything. It was growing even more damp and dark. She tried to be braver, not wanting to cling too closely to the vampire. She could hear more rats, scurrying about with sick movements in the darkness, but she held her silence in front of the vampire behind her. Death. This place smelt of death.

Just when she thought she would scream from lack of light, Eleazar's hand disappeared from her hers. She heard a slight scratching noise, and there he was, standing with a dancing torch in his hand. He came back to her, smiling pleasantly.

"Do you want to hold it?" he asked. "Demetri and I see well enough."

She nodded, then flinched when she felt the hard, slimy texture of the bearer. It felt like… like…

"No! You take it," she insisted. "It's too heavy."

Chuckling, he guided her onward. Within ten minutes, however, the torch proved unnecessary. Scores of them lined the halls. It gave Renata the impression of a black night filled with winking stars. Others were imprisoned in elaborate braziers, flickering out tongues of green and orange flame. Eleazar set his burden in an empty bearer. "It's a little gloomy, isn't it?" he said, trying to converse with her. "Personally, I feel quite at home here, but that's what _your _kind always say."

Renata rolled her eyes. "Gloomy" was a trifle understated.

"Of course, the entirety of our little abode is not like this. You have yet to see the galleries, which I know our masters are very fond of. They keep it well-stocked, making additions every decade."

Renata's eyes lifted with the mention of 'galleries,' but she kept silent.

"You enjoy the arts, do you not?" he prodded.

"Yes," she said.

"Ah, I thought so. Just like your uncle. Did you know the Volturi and he have exchanged work for centuries? Members of our Coven have visited before, merely for the sake of a painting or two."

_I wonder if that was during my stay there, _she thought. No doubt it was. One of Luca's many secrets…

She jumped suddenly. Something had rushed past her, barely touching her skin. Demetri stood off to the side of Eleazar, conversing with a figure who had only just appeared, it seemed. She strained her eyes, but she could see nothing of the person—if it was indeed a human being.

"Yes, and he's very impatient, so why don't you open the doors right now?" she heard the vampire say.

"Don't order me about, Demetri," a languid voice replied. It sounded like a snake speaking. "The girl will see him in good time."

Demetri lunged forward, grasping something black in his hand. _"Open it up!"_ he snarled.

Eleazar restrained him. "Demetri! For God's sake…" He turned, apologizing to the unseen figure. He glared at his companion with blazing eyes. "We will _wait,"_ he said firmly.

"_Addio," _snickered the voice.

Renata caught a glimpse of hair, a finely-formed white cheek, but that was all. They stood alone in front of two medium-sized, oddly insignificant doors. They weren't even fastened, she noticed. All they had to do was step in…

Eleazar looked at her, smiling. _"That, _my love, would be a mistake."

She hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud. Better to follow her childhood habit, and keep completely silent. It had saved her many times before.

"At last!" ejaculated Demetri suddenly. The doors were moving, opening with a soft "click."

Renata held back, not knowing why she suddenly felt afraid. Eleazar took her elbow firmly. "Come," he said. "You are perfectly safe."

_Then why my uncle's fear? Why _this _fear? _She took his hand again, hating the cold, bony substance of it, and followed Demetri's slim form through the doorway.

* * *

><p>Light—that was the first thing she noticed. Strong, piercing light, coming through three small windows at the far end of the room. After her eyes cleared, she realized it wasn't that strong at all, just merely a result of being entombed in darkness for so long. It was obviously still daytime outside, however protracted the journey there had seemed. Eleazar's hand loosened on hers. She was free to follow them of her own will.<p>

"_Padrone," _he said softly, making a strange gesture with his hand. She listened eagerly, but only the beginning was in Italian. The rest followed in a mixture of Spanish and some language she'd never heard.

"What are you hiding behind us for?" Demetri hissed. He snatched her wrist, dragging her up in front of Eleazar.

She felt blinded again, at first. She stumbled, righting herself before either of the guard moved. She had tripped on a step. Stone. There were three steps, each a different length than the other; the middle one being the longest of all. She lifted her hand, shielding it from the light. There were two figures in front of her. Perhaps these were the "masters"? And there she was, standing like a fool…

"_Bow,"_ Eleazar whispered behind her.

Bow? To whom? They weren't kings. She was beginning to see them clearer now. Pale faces, dark eyes, settled composure. Just like her uncle and the guard. She bent herself awkwardly, conscious of her loose, knotty hair and rumpled dress. _"Padrone?" _

A soft chuckle. "Did you hurt yourself, my dear?" a voice asked.

Renata froze, her hand dropping from her mussed curls. Every inch of her skin prickled. She looked up, eyes adjusting, to the source of the voice.

A face of pure beauty stared down at her. She felt silly applying that word to a man (even the word "man" seemed an understatement), but it was the first thing to come to her mind. This was obviously one of the ancients Eleazar had spoken of. Yet he didn't seem ancient. Not in the least. His forehead was high and white, rising unbroken from the aquiline curve of his cheek, before the rich contrast of his hair molded into velvet robes. Or were they silk? His nose was faintly crooked; Grecian, but with an animalistic touch. And his lips... ah, how that brought a blush to the young girl's face! Their make was sensual in the extreme, relaxing periodically in a smile. She shivered as they spread back, lush and red, from his glistening teeth.

"Is this the child?" he asked, rising. She half expected dust to fall from his robes, so stationary he had seemed on his throne.

"Yes, my lord. Renata di Vingrezi, Luca's niece."

"The last person you would have expected to have relations," replied the ancient. He seemed amused, for some reason. Yet the eye he turned on Renata was far from humorous. He was looking at her much the same way Eleazar had that first visit, with fascination. Oddly enough, she didn't feel insulted. He seemed to compliment her without speaking, as if she'd already pleased him in some unknown way.

"I'm proud of you, Eleazar," he said at last. "Even I can sense it, without your gift. Hm…" He touched his chin with a pale finger. "I only regret my brother Marcus could not attend today. I am indeed anxious to observe his reaction."

"I think we're all agreed, with or without him," remarked a sharp voice.

Renata turned. So dazzled had she been by the ancient before her, she hadn't even noticed the one to his left. Her reaction, also, was very different. She felt a sharp twinge of dislike, just looking at him. It wasn't that he was ugly—his beauty equaled his brother's. But there was something wrong with the face…

The other ancient laughed. "Caius, you are _so_ impatient!"

Renata's forehead creased in confusion. "Oh, are _you _Aro?" she said, speaking for the first time.

The warm eyes turned lovingly on her. "Yes, little one. This is Caius, of course, one of my brothers. You confused the both of us, no doubt?"

She nodded. The ancient's voice made hers sound as dry as an old hag's. She felt ashamed, suddenly, standing before such perfection.

"You did, I see. But no matter! It is an easy mistake." He seemed to be restraining laughter. "My brothers and I. Like three—how do you say it?—like "peas in a pod."

Soft chuckles echoed behind Renata. Aro's laugh weaved among them, coming to a stop when he saw her silent face. "You are not a talkative one, are you?" he asked softly.

"Not really."

"Good," he whispered. "I admire you for it, my _dear." _

She could not understand the endearments he gave her—were they related somehow? He was calling her things only Luca called her. This bewildered her. Angered her, even.

Aro continued to watch her, smiling tenderly. "What are you thinking of, Renata?" he asked.

She heard a strange noise behind her, like someone muttering… or growling.

"Pay him no mind," the ancient said, as she turned to look at Demetri. "He is jealous. Are you not, my friend?"

"_Forse, padrone," _mumbled the vampire sulkily.

Renata smiled a little, still uncertain. Had she missed something? Why should Demetri be jealous? Aro was pacing back and forth, blocking the light occasionally with his lean, dark shadow. "Well, enough of that!" he was saying brightly. "Shall we commence?" He clapped his hands, so swiftly they seemed but a blur to Renata.

The doors opened. She turned anxiously, wondering if she'd had her fill of surprises.

She hadn't.

"Step a little closer to the light, my dears," Aro trilled. "I want to see your precious little faces."

Up until that moment, Renata had had no conception of what her future would be. Would they allow her to leave? Would she come back again? It was all fog; no perceptive marks in sight. Yet the feelings that rose in her breast just then were far from unclear. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her dress. She hated these children. Hated them like she'd never hated anything, because there was nothing like a child about them. There was no feeling in those cold, simpering, selfish eyes…

Perhaps they were_ all_ evil, she decided. Damned to hell, like Luca said. But she hadn't had that impression with Aro, his brother, _nor _his guard—at least, not as fiercely. She had grown up sheltered, loved and blessed, so her negative feelings were perfectly understandable.

_Evil, _her mind whispered to her. Evil had entered the room… taking her twin with her.


	4. Tested

**Tested **

"And now, my dear, we come to our test." Aro gazed at Renata. She thought she saw an apology in his eyes. "It is rather unpleasant, I'm afraid, but if you do what I tell you, there is nothing whatsoever to fear."

She waited, apprehension rising. He smiled down at the girl twin. "Jane, this is Renata di Vingrezi, the prospective talent I told you about. Give her your greetings, love."

The child nodded imperceptibly, then turned back to her master. Her brother was a little more attentive, gazing at Renata with curiosity. The latter turned away hastily. She wasn't fooled by those cherubic cheeks. She hardly heard Aro introducing the three of them. She wished she was somewhere else; anywhere was better than this cold, dark room, with its strange occupants staring her down like a fascinating specimen.

Something nudged her in the side. She glanced at Demetri, then back at Aro, who was motioning her to step back a few paces. When she stood in the center of the room, he lifted his hand.

"Perfect, darling," he murmured.

The young woman gazed down at her feet uneasily. She hadn't noticed the large grate before. It was undoubtedly the cleanest one she'd ever seen. But she hadn't time for further observation.

"We all have gifts, little one," Aro said, his tone warming as he spoke to her. "But yours, as Eleazar has so miraculously discovered, seems to be one of the greatest of them all."

_What is he talking about? _she thought, watching the lovely face nervously.

"You are not immortal," he continued. "But I don't wish you to slight yourself on such a trivial fact. Indeed, when Jane and Alec were human, they were unbounded in their potential. I am fortunate I found them when I did." He smiled, running a finger through Alec's curly locks, then looked back at her. "Jane will use _her _gift now, Renata, to prove something we wish to know. When she does, I want you to _concentrate. _Whatever may happen, do not lose your focus or power of thought. Don't be frightened. Your own gift will help you."

Renata nodded, but she had no comprehension. _They're mad, _she thought. _That's why Luca was afraid. _Then with terror, _Why didn't he tell me? _

"Whenever you're ready," said the ancient, settling himself back on his throne.

Jane turned to Renata, exposing her bright, tiny teeth.

The air was punched from Renata's chest, and she slammed into the grate with equally violent force. The pain squeezed its fingers about her heart, weaving like a snake into her incoherent thoughts. She saw Aro looking at her—no, that wasn't Aro. Another vampire had entered the room, regarding the scene with mild curiosity. His indifference made her want to scream.

But she didn't. She felt triumphant, even through the red haze. She would show them she wasn't weak. They couldn't frighten her.

The pain punched her again. She nearly cried out an expletive. Her consciousness was slipping. Gritting her nails into her chest, she mentally screamed. _Stop it! _

It did.

Shaken, Renata unclenched her fists slowly. Now that the force was gone, she merely felt weak; the pain was only a memory. She looked up to see the demon girl standing in utter confusion, gazing at one of the brownstone pillars.

Aro had risen. He bent down before the child, his eyes glowing. "Jane?" He snapped his fingers in front of her face. Only then did she turn, fading from her dreamlike state. "Yes, Master?"

"Do you remember what I told you to do?" he asked.

The red eyes clouded. "What was that, my lord?"

"Renata? You were testing her for me."

Jane brightened. "Oh, yes," she whispered. "The demonic smile reappeared.

The pain clawed into Renata without warning. It was worse than before, if that was possible. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. The fire pricked her brain, spiraling lights behind her eyes, and once again she cried out in mental agony: _Stop it! _

The room was dead silent, but for Renata's panting. Even Caius remained transfixed.

Jane sank down on the steps, cradling her little chin in her hands. She looked utterly bewildered, as before. Aro yanked her to her feet, pushing her back with frenzied excitement. "Again! Again!" he ejaculated.

Despite her fear, Renata was not stupid. She rose quickly, watching Jane's every movement. Once again, she was mysteriously protected. The pain reached out for her, she willed it away, and it retracted, leaving the vampire child with no memory of having tortured her. It was frustrating for her, and humiliating for Jane. They repeated this process over and over, maddeningly so, until Aro joyously pronounced his satisfaction. Jane glided sulkily to her brother. Renata saw Eleazar behind them, gazing at her in muted astonishment.

"She's incredible!" Aro sang. He looked like a child delighted by a present. Renata half expected him to start bouncing up and down. Instead, he turned to Jane, gesturing eagerly. "Almost finished, little one," he said. "I am eager for _my_ turn."

Protests bubbled to the cherubic lips. "Master, you _promised—"_

"Promises, promises. Must I give you everything, spoiled angel? Do as I tell you."

Jane paused, and Renata had to admire her courage. "Master, please. She is not even one of us yet. Should she or I fail—"

"I have to agree, Aro," Caius intervened. "Her powers are impressive, certainly, but she has only been defending _herself. _We have yet to know if she can defend others."

Aro seemed irritated. "Oh, very well," he said, waving his hand. "We are running out of time, anyway. I can hear Heidi in the passageway now." He flashed another brilliant smile on Renata. "Farewell, then, my dear. Luca shall know of our pleasure."

The young woman gasped in relief. Still, she couldn't help feeling a little flattered at Aro's faith in her. Had the ancient _really _intended for her to protect him? She closed her eyes, feeling absurdly grateful to Jane, however intensely she disliked her.

"_Addio," _she said softly. She didn't want to be rude.

The ancients only laughed, with Aro's laugh being the loudest of all. The newest arrival, the one Renata had seen briefly, did not say a word. He looked bored, leaving at the same time she did.

"You were _magnificent!" _gushed Eleazar, leading her down the hall. (Demetri was not with them.) "I have not seen Aro so pleased in decades." He frowned to himself. "Well, I have, actually, but this time there was good reason."

"Who on earth is that girl?" Renata whispered.

"I understand your hate, _Signorina." _His glittering eyes darkened._ "_Believe me, we all share it amongst ourselves. Aro alone holds affection for those accursed brats."

"My, my, such language," breezed a soft voice down the hallway.

Eleazar started. "Heidi? Back so soon?"

"I know my duties," she replied. The gorgeous female vampire was followed by a host of people, some of whom looked foreign to Renata. She peered past Heidi's shimmering dress, trying not to gawk at the fair complexions and long, pale lashes.

Heidi paid her no attention. "Don't let Aro hear you talking like that," she smirked. "He may, ah, think to _replace _you."

"Keep a few for me," Eleazar whisper, ignoring her pointedly.

"Nonsense. You're either present or not."

"I kept one for you last time."

Heidi shrugged alabaster shoulders. "If you say so. Male or female?"

"Female. The youngest ones."

She shook her head vehemently. "I cannot. Aro prefers those. You know that as well as I."

They argued for a few more minutes, completely disregarding the restless group, whose purpose continued to be bafflingly unclear to Renata. They were chattering loudly; some in Italian, others in languages Renata could barely grasp. They seemed angry. One man tugged at his wife's sleeve, holding out his hand as if demanding recompense. She shook him off, pointing to a little girl beside her. Renata scoffed in dismay. The hallway temperature was freezing. Why were there _children _here? It wasn't sensible. Then again, nothing was.

Eleazar grasped her elbow. "Come."

Renata turned back, staring at the woman again. Heidi was holding a little girl in her arms. "See?" Renata heard her say gently. "It's not frightening at all. Only some ugly old statues."

Eleazar hurried her up the stairs, although the word "shoved" seemed more appropriate. He had been eager to talk with Heidi, yet was just as desperate to leave. A door wrenched open under his grasp, and Renata found herself in the stairway where Demetri had killed the rat.

She cringed back as they passed it. It was too cold for flies down there, but its remains still smelled terribly. She walked a few more steps, stumbling under Eleazar's impatience, when a horrifying thought flashed through her brain. She thought of the blood, pooling in filthy puddles under the carcass, and a wretched gasp tore from her throat.

"Wait!" she cried, colliding with Eleazar as she turned. She fled past the carcass, diving deeper into the blackness, when the Spanish vampire caught up with her.

"What now?" he demanded, shaking her. "What now? I need to take you home."

"Stop!" she screamed, pushing against him. She prayed the people would hear her. "They're _vampires, _you fools! Stop, for heaven's sa—"

He slapped her. While she was still recovering from the blow, he dragged her up the remaining stairs, yanking her relentlessly through the doorway.

"You don't understand," he muttered, lifting her stunned body against him. "You're only human. You don't understand anything yet."

Renata groaned. A tear materialized on her cheek. Before Eleazar took her in his arms, rushing off into nothingness, she had a quick, blurred glimpse of a red sun setting in the west. The horrible adventure had, unbelievably, consumed the entire day.


	5. Home

**Sorry for the delay! I'll have more up soon. **

* * *

><p><strong>Home <strong>

Renata staggered up the walk in the dusk, half-sick with fear and exhaustion. Luca had seen her coming through the windows, so he was already there by the time she reached the door.

"_Oh, cara…" _His arms wrapped around her; kind… fatherly… _safe. "Il mio bambino bella." _She didn't cry very often, but now she couldn't stop. He caught the pearly tears, rocking her.

"It was horrible," she whispered. "Those twins…. Uncle, it was like they didn't _have _eyes, or souls!… And then when that woman brought—" Another sob escaped her lips, and she buried her face in his shoulder. "It was horrible… horrible…"

"I know, _cara," _he said gently. "I should have prepared you better."

"You did. I just didn't believe you." She hadn't believed it was possible such evil could exist. She felt suffocated, suddenly.

"Come." Luca lifted her, leading her from the room. "You have not eaten since breakfast. I had Maria prepare something for you."

She smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you."

She sat at the table, hardly waiting for Samuel to serve before she fell on the dishes with roused hunger. Luca paced about the room while she ate, occasionally lifting a book, then just as quickly putting it back again. Then he would come back to her side, stroking her curls, or watching her with fond, dark eyes. He never left her for long, she noticed, while eating dessert. This pained her, even as it warmed her heart.

Dinner ended. Maria and Samuel cleared the dishes, making obeisance to her uncle before leaving. Renata looked at him expectantly, but he was gazing into the fire, seeing nothing. She approached him slowly. It had always been their custom after dinner to go into the library, talking or reading together until ten o'clock, upon which he escorted her to her room, kissing her goodnight. She had no intention of foregoing that tradition now, all because of a horde of damned immortals.

"Uncle?" she whispered.

He looked up at her, and she almost recoiled. Maybe it was just her newfound knowledge, but he'd never seemed so inhuman to her as he did at that moment. It was like a _corpse _stood before her. Then she saw past his face, to the emptiness in his eyes, and her heartbeat calmed. She slipped her hand into his. He followed her like a child to the library, letting her settle him in his chair. She felt his eyes following her about the room as she lit the candles, tending to the fire.

"It makes things difficult, you know." His voice came to her distantly.

"What do you mean, Uncle?"

He sighed. "That you love me… that I love you so much."

The tears rose in Renata's throat again, but she forced them back with effort. The fire lit up the scores of bookshelves, helping her find what she wanted. She pulled up a cushioned stool to his chair, worn from the years of her childhood and adolescence. Looking at him, she placed a large volume of Ovid on his lap. "Will you read to me?" she asked.

He smiled ironically, as if to say, _After all that's happened? _"Very well."

"Page thirty-five," she said, making herself comfortable beside him. Strange how much the familiar routine drove away her fears. Luca seemed to feel likewise, for the anxiety on his brow fell away slowly. He smiled at her, and began.

"'In summer's heat and mid-time of the day,'"he read. "To rest my limbs upon a bed I lay…"

Renata mouthed the words along with him. _'One window shut, the other open stood, which gave such light as twinkles in a wood. Like twilight glimpse at setting of the sun, or night being past and yet not day begun.' _She had it memorized from her youth, when there was no talk of vampires or strange leaders or darkness. It was a sweet, gently erotic poem, and one of her favorites. The speaker (Ovid, perchance?) decides to rest himself on a summer's day, overcome with the heat, when the fair Corinna appears and entices him to make love to her.

Renata smiled at her uncle, who stroked her hand absently as he finished. "'Judge you the rest. Being tired, she bade me kiss. Jove send me more such afternoons as this." He closed the book, looking down at her. "Remember when I forbade you this poetry?"

"Yes. You hid it up on the very highest shelf. I was furious."

He chuckled, caressing her hair. "You're much older now."

"Yes." A thought tugged at her. "Uncle?" she asked softly. "Why haven't you ever married?"

His hand stilled. Slowly, he kissed her forehead, then leaned back in his chair.

"Aren't you going to answer me?"

"No, I'm not."

"Is it forbidden of an immortal? I thought you said the ancients had mates."

His white lips tightened. "They do."

She sighed. "I'm sorry. It was a thoughtless question."

It was a long moment before Luca spoke. "What did Aro tell you?" he asked quietly.

"About you?"

"Yes."

"Nothing, except that you were the last person he'd have expected to have relations."

"I've never needed anyone," Luca snapped, startling her. His tapered fingers dug into the armrest. "He _mocks_ me, the fiend. Because I have no coven, no mate of my own, he thinks to laugh at me in my solitude, taking from me the only thing I find _truly _precious—"

He broke, and she realized the pain he'd been hiding from her. He turned from her in his chair, almost violently, so she could not see his face. Renata's heart quavered inside her. She had never seen her uncle cry—indeed, she wondered if he even _could—_but his voice cried out with all the heartache of a human sufferer. She sat there on her stool, unable to comfort him, yet equally unable to leave.

"I am sorry, Uncle."

"So am I," he murmured.

She touched his arm. "I didn't realize… I had no idea you disliked him."

"Aro? I _loathe _him. He is nothing which is good."

A spark of indignation rose inside her. Had not her uncle called _himself_ damned? Surely the Coven was damned as well, and thus on the same moral tier? "How can you tell me that?" she demanded. "How _can _you, when for all you know, he will take me tomorrow?"

"You know nothing of their ways," he said, whirling on her.

"Then don't tell me! Let me find out for _myself, _Uncle, _if_ I go. If not, then say nothing besides."

"Dear heaven," he whispered, staring at her. "You _want _to return."

"Why do you keep accusing me?" she asked, in tears now. "I merely wish to _prepare _myself, Uncle, without my whole world crashing down around me!"

She rose from her stool, ignoring the cold brush of her his hand. She went to her room. It seemed the only place, really, where she could unburden herself, and contemplate the unfathomable events of the past two days. Two faces hovered in her mind, terribly similar not only in appearance, but in the feelings they evoked. One was her uncle; kind, perceptive, and an everlasting father to her. The other was a mere shadow, a breathless image, but his name leaped to her lips nonetheless.

"Aro."

What were her emotions now? Love? No, no, too shallow yet for that. Fear, certainly, but her memories of him were not all unpleasant. She simply could not forget it, the way he had looked at her. As if she was a long-lost daughter, or a close friend. Renata's world was not 'crashing', as she'd so passionately worded it. It was merely weakening, along with her ability to control herself. She wasn't sure of anything anymore. Each vampire was pulling her a different direction. Was it wrong?

A soft touch tapped gently against the door.

Was it _right? _

"Come in," she sighed. The tears were still in her voice, much as she hated it. They welled up the next moment, as she reached out to her uncle. "I'm sorry."

He sat close to her on her bed, his cold yet comforting presence overriding everything.

"I'm frightened, Uncle."

"Hush, _cara." _

"I don't want them to take me away."

"I know, I know…"

His arms gripped her tightly, almost hurting her for a moment. It was unnerving, how she kept forgetting what he was. She discarded the feeling quickly; she loved him too much. They sat there silently, only the occasional whisper of wind outside as interruption.

"Surely… surely it wasn't _all _so terrible?" he asked finally.

A tear squeezed from his niece's eye. Did he really have no hope for her? "Not all of it," she admitted finally. "One of them was…" She stopped. A figure turned in her mind, smiling sweetly. _My dear… _

Luca watched her. "Yes?"

Renata shook her head. She couldn't bring herself to say the name. Not after—

She looked up. Luca's arms had loosened, and he gazed at her with dimming eyes. "It's Aro, isn't it?"

"I never—"

"You aren't a liar, Renata."

She rubbed her swollen eyes wearily. "I—I don't know, Uncle. He wasn't… well, he just wasn't what I expected. He seems different from the rest of them, somehow."

A harsh laugh. "Aro can be very charming. Small wonder you like him."

"I didn't say I _liked _him," she objected. "I only felt more at ease around him that the others." She shook her head, cursing this whole conversation. She knew Luca's anger wasn't directed at _her, _but it pained her nonetheless. "The other vampires frightened me, but Aro… Oh, Uncle, it's as if he was willing to do _anything _in the world for me. Anything at all. He seemed so pleased. A little strange, perhaps, but not unkind."

Luca's fingers ran through his long hair. Renata touched his shoulder, feeling him shudder at the effort to contain himself. "It doesn't matter," she whispered. "You're nothing to him, Uncle. No one ever will be."

He sighed. "I am a jealous old fool."

"You are a loving uncle, and a wonderful guardian to me."

"He cannot see that, _cara mia. _Don't you understand? He has no pity, nothing—"

She seized his face desperately. "I don't _want _to talk about him anymore."

"The Volturi—"

"The Volturi can go to hell."

"Renata!"

She held him close, ignoring his protestations. She was small, barely reaching his breastbone, but Luca was long accustomed to embracing his niece. He leaned down, taking her little body in his arms, and silently cursing the hard hands that entwined in her silky curls.

For now, all was well.


	6. Desired

**This was... difficult to write. :( **

* * *

><p><strong>Desired <strong>

_Amico mio, _

_"We would very much like to see your niece again. Please bring her to us. Demetri will be waiting for you. We will inform you when she is ready to come home. Rispettosamente." _

Luca stared hard at the black ink, as if deciphering some hidden message between the lines. It was written by Aro, clearly, though there was no signature. But what did it _mean? _The first few words irritated him. He was no friend of the Volturi. Why did they term him such?

"Renata?" he called. There was no answer. He halted a passing Lira, telling her to go find his niece. Once again, he stared at the letter, then his eye fell on the fireplace. It would be so easy…

For two weeks, there had been nothing. For two weeks, he and Renata had desisted from any mention of the Volturi, or her experience with them. It had been a peaceful interlude, easing the tension that had sprung up in the mansion, yet tendrils of dread had risen up in Luca's heart. It was not like Aro to wait.

"_He seemed so pleased…" _

That's what she'd said. So why hadn't they made a move? Taken the jewel that Aro so evidently prized? These thoughts tormented him, even as he tried to enjoy time with his niece.

_How like you, Luca, _he thought, _to worry yourself to death. _But he didn't. Not usually. Only when it came to her…

"_Bambina," _he called, seeing her flushed face on the landing. He couldn't help smiling, despite his deep anxiety. She ran lightly down the polished stairs, petticoats flashing white. Whatever the world thought (or Adrina had claimed at the beginning), his niece would always seem beautiful and pure to him. She looked positively radiant this morning, though the only activity had been Greek conjugation and a quick stroll in the gardens. Her dark curls glowed against her cheek, now lightly tanned to her native Italian. Her dress was the color of pale garnets, made of silk for the sweltering summer months. She smiled, giving her uncle a customary peck on the cheek.

"You sent for me?"

The anxiety came rushing back. With effort, he concealed it. "Yes, dear. How is the Greek?"

"Tedious. I thought we were going to begin German?"

"Soon enough, love." Unwillingly, he passed the note into her rosy palm. "This is for you."

She glanced at it, curious, then began rapidly scanning the lines. The radiance slowly ebbed from her face.

"I'm sorry."

"Why did you tell me?" she whispered.

"I cannot conceal this from you."

"You concealed your immortality," she accused.

"That was different. There was no direct threat to you."

She pushed past him, flinging the paper into the fireplace. "I won't go."

"_Cara, _there is no choice—"

She stamped her foot pettishly. "I don't care! I'm _not _leaving you!"

"They will destroy us."

"Aro won't. He likes my gift. He will do anything I ask him."

Luca stared at her in disbelief. "Good God, Renata. Is _that _what you're basing our security on? I've already told you: the Volturi listen to no one. You cannot assume Aro doesn't regard you as disposable." He held out his arms to her, but she darted back.

"You wouldn't," she gasped.

"I have no choice,"her uncle said. "If I don't bring you, dearest one, they will take you by force, and we will never see each other again."

She continued to back away, tears forming. "How do you know they aren't planning that now?"

"I don't. I wish to heaven I did, but I don't."

She slumped against the wall.

"Renata…"

She cried silently, pressed against his silk coat. "I hate them," she whispered. "I hate them all."

_Even Aro? _The question lingered in Luca's mouth, but he couldn't bring himself to ask it. Gently, his left arm lifted her legs, supporting her back with the other. He carried her out the door, ignoring the surprised glances of passing servants. He felt her heart against his chest, pounding violently. It gave him the strength he so desperately needed.

"I love you," he said, kissing her. The wind swirled her hair, bringing with it the rich, warm scent of her body. Luca took a deep breath, and began to run.

* * *

><p>"No further, Luca," said the vampire warningly. His quick fingers opened the gate, reaching out for the sleeping girl.<p>

"I am not to come with her?"

"_Ma che! _Of course not!" Demetri laughed a little at the joke. He peered down at Renata's face. Had the girl been crying recently? "You will wait in the city 'til I return."

Luca glowered. "You mean _we, _do you not?"

"Oh, yes, of course."

He stepped away from the gate, locking it securely. It meant nothing to Luca, obviously, but he wouldn't have dared set foot in those gloomy walls. The Volturi were feared even as they were respected, and for more than one good reason. His stricken face watched them silently, until the darkness swallowed them. He turned, walking down the street slowly.

Back inside the corridors, Renata slept soundly. The journey, so nauseating before, had been nothing but pleasant with her uncle holding her. She dreamt of nothing, which was a blessing.

Demetri waited in front of the heavy doors for the signal. They opened eventually, releasing a draught of cold, rather stale air. The girl shivered against him. He chuckled. In a rare gesture of kindness, he removed his gray cloak, tucking it carefully around her body.

The ancients sat together, Caius and Aro conversing inaudibly. Marcus was present, but his usual silent apathy made the fact debatable. Aro turned, his eyes glowingly excited.

"Welcome back, my friend!" His gaze fell on Renata, and the red lips paled. "Surely you do not bring us a corpse?" he asked harshly.

"Nay, my lord. She is sleeping."

Joy surged back through the ancient's features. "How precious,"he whispered, bending slightly. "The journey seems to have exhausted her."

"These last _weeks_ have been exhausting," snapped his brother. "Can we _please _just make a decision?"

"Wake her," said Aro calmly.

Demetri reached under the cloak. Renata awoke with a tiny shriek, staring at the bruise where he'd pinched her. Her breathing quickened further as she realized where she was. She shoved away from Demetri. "Take it," she hissed, flinging the cloak in his face.

Aro laughed, capturing her attention again. "Let it go, _amico mio," _he giggled. "It's lovely to see you again, Renata."

A soft shudder went up the girl's spine. She'd forgotten how enticing his voice was. "Thank you," she murmured.

"My brother, Marcus," he said, introducing her briefly. "How are you feeling today, dear?"

Renata didn't even look up. "Why did you send for me?"

"All in good time, little one. Have you eaten?"

"I am not hungry."

"You would like to rest longer, perhaps?"

Renata bit her thin lips. "Please, _Padrone." _

Aro sighed. He settled back in his chair, the black silk cascading. "Your uncle brought you, yes?" he asked.

"_Si. _And you promised to take me ba—"

"Hush," he interrupted. "You have yet to hear our proposal." He waited a moment before continuing. "Renata, although it has been some time since we last conversed, we have by no means been idle. Your future is of _great _interest to us." He smiled at his brother, who continued to gaze at Renata with an acerbic expression. "Consequently, we would like to make you an offer."

"A _very _rare offer," interjected Caius.

"My brother speaks truly," Aro chuckled. "After all, not lightly is the gift of immortality given."

_Immortality? My future? _The girl listened, dread rising.

Aro, conversely, was ecstatic. "You have pleased us immeasurably, my child. As such, we have decided to let you join us—"

"At last!" Caius crowed.

"—and we are _beyond _thrilled to have you." The dark-haired ancient smiled sweetly. "What do you think of that, my dear?"

Renata closed her mouth, which had fallen open in a very ungainly manner. "Join you?" she croaked, trying to work up moisture in her throat.

"That is what I said," he replied patiently.

Her hands were trembling. She clenched them. "I—I hardly know what to say."

The sour-faced one, Caius, spoke. "An affirmation would be nice. May I remind you that we have _other _tasks to complete—?"

"Caius, Caius," interrupted his brother. "Let us not give our guest the wrong impression. This is important." His voice softened inaudibly. "I _will _be satisfied." He turned to Renata. "Take your time, my sweet. It is your choice."

Her eyes brightened. _"Daverro? _Really?"

"Of course."

"Then I wish to remain with my uncle."

The brothers looked at each other. Caius leaned forward. "You _refuse _us?"

"Yes."

Another disbelieving look. Then a harsh laugh broke the line of his pale lips. "You are a young fool."

"I disagree," she retorted. "You are not _me,_ my lord. I will stay with Luca."

"Ah, _cara…" _Aro sighed. "Are you sure that is the best course?"

"Yes," she said stubbornly. "May I go now?"

"Renata—"

"No, you may not," Caius snapped. "Demetri, stop her!"

Renata froze, staring in confusion. She hadn't moved a step. "My lord, I—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" exclaimed Aro. "Calm yourself, child. You've done nothing wrong."

"Then why am I detained?" she asked, trembling. "Why can't I go home? You promised."

"If only it were that simple, child."

"What do you mean?"

Aro reached in his vest, fingering something that glimmered. "There are… consequences… to the choice you have made."

"Consequences?"

"Yes. We do not accept refusals, my dear."

"You said I had a choice—"

"True. But it was the wrong one."

Panic rose, overriding the dread. "Let me go," she whispered.

"Where?" sneered Caius. "Back to that recluse?"

She whirled on him, hot words on her tongue, but Aro spoke. "I have no desire to pain you, little one, but Luca is well aware of our intentions. He knows the costs of either decision."

Renata's mind whirled, fastening on her uncle's face. _"If I don't bring you, dearest one, they will take you by force, and we will never see each other again." _

His words gave her hope. "And if I agree?" she asked quickly. _"If_ I join you?"

Aro tilted his head. "What are you asking, love?"

"I cannot leave my uncle. If I join you, do I have permission to see him regularly?"

"No," Aro said softly.

Her face fell. "What is it you _want _from me?" she cried. "You _promised _me a choice! You cannot deny your promise!"

"Ah, yes," He frowned apologetically. "Well, I lied, I'm afraid. For your benefit."

There was silence. Then Renata lashed out, barely caught by Demetri before she reached the throne steps.

"_Bugiardo!" _she screamed. _"Liar! _You are a _liar!" _

He yanked her back. She writhed in the vampire's arms. Her face was flushed with rage, the black gems moist with bitter pain. The ancients said nothing. Aro's eyes closed, listening silently to her screams until they abated. After several minutes, Demetri let her go, keeping a grip on one wrist. The girl raised her head, wet strands hanging in her face.

"You're—" Her voice was thick. "You're just as he said—_all _of you. You're heartless."

"We are well aware of Luca's feelings," Aro said calmly. "Don't take everything so literally, my dear. There are many without hearts—cruel, base mortals—but whose bodies beat with living blood and flesh. They are heartless, but not through that flesh." His face hardened. "We are dead, Renata. Your uncle is dead. We _have_ no hearts in our bodies, yet we _can _act kindly and with mercy. I would caution you to remember the difference."

He raised a finger, and Demetri retreated back into the shadows.

Renata jerked forward, then caught herself. She would not kneel before these monsters. She would _not _beg…

But what about love? "I must see him," she pleaded. "I—I _must… _he's waiting…"

Aro glanced at Demetri. "Is he?"

"No, my lord."

Renata took a step. "He is waiting at home, then. Oh, my lord, _please…" _

Aro's eyes were soft. "You will retire, Renata."

She stared. _"Scuzie?" _

Aro gestured to Demetri, who came to stand beside her. Renata cringed away from him.

"But…" she stammered, betraying her confusion. The ancients watched her, not a glimmer of emotion appearing on their faces. She looked from one to the other in dismay. "I was not told of this," she said, trembling. "The note said—I understood—"

Caius spoke. "We do not make strong bonds by lingering over tearful farewells. You will overcome this weakness in time."

Renata hardly heard him. She gazed at Aro, pleading with him silently. Surely—surely _this _ancient would pity her? She already seemed so entirely in his favor…

Her hopes were dashed. He rose, ignoring her. "Take over for me, would you, brother?" So saying, he left the room, accompanied by a hulking vampire and the woman who had brought the Coven's victims.

Silence—deep and terrible—melted into the room. Renata remained standing, frozen in her place. A queer sensation quivered in the pit of her stomach. It was as if her heart were slowly failing, shredding itself in an attempt to stop the tears that were rising to the surface.

Caius glided down the steps. His brittle, white hand rested on her shoulder. "This won't do," he said. "You know that as well as I. Come with me."

His tone was not unkind, but it was commanding. She followed him through the heavy doors, his hand still on her shoulder. Under normal circumstances, she would have shuddered away. But she was numb. She could not feel anything.

"Is there anyone you wish to speak to?" he asked.

She looked up numbly. Was this a trick question? Only one person in the world could have aided her at that moment. She shook her head, mumbling a negative.

"You will," he said lightly, then changed the subject. "Until your initiation, there are scores of servants here to help you, with whatever you may wish for. Should you prefer a human to our kind, that can be provided for as well. Do not leave this room until you are sent for."

She half-expected him to say "goodnight," but the door shut firmly on its hinges, leaving her in complete silence.

Again.

"Dear God," she whispered. The words hardly left her lips before she covered them, desperately trying to conceal her sobs. She stumbled towards the bed. It was a heartbreaking scene, the sight of this young woman, so strong on the outside, yet broken down to nothing in the space of several minutes. Her body shook on the white sheets, and the tears ran shamelessly down her face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Oh, Luca… I'm so sorry…"


	7. Beautiful

**Hello, dears. I do not expect any reviews at the moment (to be sure, there were none for the last update), but I am okay with that. **

**Why? **

**Well, due to the recent upsurge in Volturi fandom, I'm afraid we've all been spinning a bit on our heads lately, or at least splashing some sort of cold substance across our faces, wondering if we really ARE finally going insane. **

***sighs* Yes, well... I hope you enjoyed it. Please review this when you can, and let me know how I'm doing. :) **

**To Dani: I am finishing up "The Three Laws" soon. You will have a first chapter. ^^ **

**To Lady: THANK YOU for that newest chapter. Made my evening. What were your views on the trailer, pray? **

* * *

><p><strong>Beautiful <strong>

The morning dawned cold and dark, for no sunlight entered Renata's room. She rose early from an exhausted sleep, but didn't bother to leave the bed. A few tears leaked onto the pillow as she remembered. It hurt more than ever, if that was possible.

She was not left to her misery for long. Several hours after waking, she heard a knock sound upon her door. She didn't answer.

Another knock. "Signorina Vingrezi?" piped a soft voice.

"Go away," murmured the girl.

"Signorina? My name is Annette. I was asked to take care of you. Could you get up, please?"

Her heart ached inside her, but her uncle hadn't taught her to be rude. She rose slowly, making her way across the small room.

"Thank you!" said Annette, brushing past her. Her arms were full of fresh linen, which she placed with gentle care on the edge of the bed.

Renata stared at her, pleasure mingling with surprise. Annette was not a vampire, nor was she repelling or strange in any aspect. Her voice was low and soft, and delicately rounded with an accent that Renata recognized as English. Her skin was a deep, rich tan, like a laborer. It matched the caramel color of her eyes. She was lovely. Not of high birth, certainly—the daughter of a _contadino,_ perhaps—but her manner was sweet and friendly.

Those merry eyes sparkled up at Renata, and she smoothed back her hair with coarse fingers. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to," she said pleasantly. "But… you _do _need a bath, and perhaps a change of clothes."

Renata stiffened. "That isn't my fault."

"Oh, don't get yourself in a tizzy. We all smell at some point in our lives. Goodness, weren't you a baby once? Don't be offended, dearie. I'll show you a nice place to tend to yourself."

They walked together out the door, turning right at the first corridor.

"Right through here, dear."

Renata followed Annette into a large, beautifully lit room. Sun streamed from two holes in the ceiling, covered with paned glass of varying blues, purples, and translucent greens. Three small pools lined Renata's left. The same number of sinks and mirrors were built in on her right. The floor tiles were of rough-hewn stone, but everything else glimmered and reflected with the white elegance of marble.

"Pretty, innit?" Annette stood by her, smiling. "I love coming here every morning. But anyway… your clothes are over on the bench, along with any towels or accessories you need."

_Naturally, _thought Renata, though not unimpressed. _Seeing as they didn't let me pack… _

She turned, wanting to thank Annette, but the girl had already disappeared, closing the door soundlessly behind her. Renata gazed down at her feet, realizing for the first time that they were bare. Her silk dress was gone, too, replaced by a nightdress.

_Who undressed me? _she thought, shivering a little. Probably Annette. She certainly _hoped _so.

The morning slipped by, but it was a half-hour before Renata even began her routine. It _was _a beautiful room. She stared at the ceiling for a long time, childishly fascinated by the paned glass. There were sculptures, as well, though she missed them at first, hidden in their protective stone niches. One held a design by Verrochio, unknown and unappreciated by the outside world. Angels curled up to centaurs, and round-cheeked _putti_ gazed adoringly at their Creator. Always a lover of art, Renata found she could not look away for long.

But time pressed. The rays through the ceiling grew warmer, and she slipped out of her nightdress quickly before sinking blissfully into the second pool. She had discovered them each to be of varying heat: the first the coolest, the second pleasantly warm, and the third ideal for a prolonged steam bath.

Having washed her hair thoroughly, Renata sat on the edge, picking up some scented oil she'd found. She opened it. It smelled pungently of lavender. She set it down hurriedly, trying not to cry. That was the scent she had had in her room as a child. Lira would sprinkle crushed sprigs about the floor, even between the bed sheets, so as to chase away any nightmares that may come to plague her.

Sighing, she lifted another container. This one was better. It smelled mildly of lemon, harmless and sweet. She even put a little on her brush, combing it through her hair. The dress on the bench was of the kind she liked most: comfortable, pleasant, nondescript. It was a dark blue, with some soft slippers to match.

"I defy them, and they treat me as if I were a queen," she murmured. She waited in the room a moment longer, unsure whether to stay or venture out by herself. She was once again admiring the beautiful glass when Annette bustled through the door.

"You shouldn't be here," she said nervously. "I should have come… much earlier… Come with me."

Confused, Renata followed her down a familiar hallway. Her lips tightened as she recognized the forbidding, heavy doors. She had no desire to see him. She would rather do anything than see him.

The thrones stood silent as ever, cloaked in darkness. They sheltered only one ancient this time.

"Annette? Ah... you brought her." Aro chuckled. "Better late than never, I always say."

"Yes, m'lord." Annette slipped behind Renata, pushing her forward.

"Thank you, my dear. You are dismissed."

Renata turned, saw the girl curtsy, then leave with a parting wave at both of them. Aro studied the former, waiting patiently for her attention to return to him.

"You slept well, I trust?" he asked softly.

"Well enough."

He smiled at the lie. "But you had a better morning?"

"Perhaps."

"Come here," he said softly.

She came, reluctance etched in her brow. It seemed a long way to the stone steps. Aro felt the tiny grasp of her hand, the cold rush of bitterness, pain, and hurt that poured into him. He placed his other hand on hers. A sweet gentleness entered his voice. "Look at me, Renata."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

A tear touched her cheek. "Because then I'll forgive you… and I cannot."

The ancient smiled, clearly touched. "I rarely forgive," he said playfully, "and yet you say I inspire forgiveness. Don't you consider that a paradox?" He lifted his hand, sliding it slowly under her chin. _"Look _at me," he repeated.

She did.

"Forgive me."

Her dark eyes flooded with tears. "My lord—"

"I am not your lord, _cara. _Why speak thus?"

"It is what the others call you."

"You are not one of them," he said gently. "At least, not yet. Perhaps one day I will have the pleasure of hearing you say that, but it is not this day. To you, I am merely _Aro." _

She stared at him, her tears still fresh. Physically, he and Luca shared no resemblance. They were as different as the land from stars; as night from day. She peered at his dark face, ignorant of her naked thoughts. Red stared back. Why so similar, then? she agonized. Why did she see Luca's face each time the ancient spoke kindly to her?

_I shouldn't feel this way, _she thought, struggling. _It is disloyal to my uncle. _

Aro pressed her hand. "Are you _certain _you're alright, my love?" he whispered.

"I don't understand," she said pitifully. "I don't understand at all."

"Oh, _cara…" _

The word struck her heart, piercing it cruelly. Her hand felt sweaty in his cold grasp. "So kind," she mumbled. "You are surely an angel, my lord."

"_Aro,"_ he corrected gently. "You must be mistaken, child. Angels have wings."

"But they are beautiful," she protested. "And kind, and loving, and… and…"

"Soulless," he finished for her.

She bit her lip. Just like Luca. _Why _were they so determined to hate themselves? "You say this," she began, almost desperately. "And yet—"

Aro's eyes softened. "Was not Lucifer once the beloved of God? He was a son of the morning, child, clasped to his Father's bosom before the Great Sin. Beautiful, even as he spiraled from heaven to eternal death in darkness."

"I cannot see it your way," she sighed. "The world is only as _I _know it: black or white."

"Ah. And _I, _my little, white lamb? What judgment would you pass upon one such as I?"

Her hand trembled in his wearily. She was an intelligent young woman, a worthy pupil of Luca's knowledge, yet she found herself at complete odds with this being, this son of the morning. "Forgive me," he'd asked. Could one forgive a shade of darkness?

"Can one _not _forgive?" he asked, following her thought. His eyes were remarkably gentle. "Damned as I am, I much admire your sweetness of spirit, Renata. But this world will crush you if you do not take care. Surely we can benefit from _each other?" _

She bowed her head. "I am weak."

"Only in your perception of yourself."

She wanted to forgive him. Oh, so badly did she want it! But Luca…

Aro dropped her hand, sighing. Abruptly, he switched topics. "You enjoy our décor here, do you not?"

Renata stared in wonder.

"Don't look so surprised, my child. There is a light in your eyes, as if you've seen something which delighted you." He beckoned her closer, his posture listening. "Tell me, what was it?"

"I—I have a love for art, my lord. Annette showed me the bathing room."

"Ah, the _piscina? _Yes, I thought you would like that. There is much else to show you, of course, if you are interested."

He rose, towering above her. She stared at his hand, then back up to his gentle eyes. _Come, _they seemed to say. _Forget your grief for awhile. Come with me. _

She sighed. What else was there time for, besides grieving? The little pain under her heart twisted, as if sensing her reluctance. She grasped his hand, pushing it from her mind. There was still a chance for talking to him, wasn't there? Surely he would let her see Luca again.

Aro gazed down at her. The faintest of smiles crossed his lips. "The _scultura _first," he said, leading her out a side door from the thrones.

* * *

><p><em>I did not know such treasures could exist.<em>

This thought occurred to Renata many times, following in the darkness of her master's wake. He didn't seem to notice the sparkling stone surrounding them; his bright eyes watched her face, soaking in her every reaction. It had been a long time since a new face had been seen in the Coven. He sighed as her sensitive eyes roved an exquisite Venus. The little angel had no conception of her power; none whatever. He sighed.

Renata turned, quizzing him with her stare. He merely smiled, continuing his description of the models in a smooth, honeyed voice. "The ancient centuries are obvious, you see," he said. "I only wish I could restore their shattered build myself."

She glanced at him, as if the thought of a vampire being incapable of something were unfathomable to her. "And this one… Aro?"

He smiled at her continued hesitation over his name. "A copy of the _Battle of the Centaurs, _by Michelangelo."

Her fingers trembled outward, lingering in a small crevice between a male figure's upraised arm. "Such power… such energy," she whispered. "One would think they were alive, ready to leap from the stonework."

He gazed at her. "You know Buonarotti?"

"I am not well acquainted with his sculpture," she said, a little ashamedly. "His paintings, however, are exquisite."

His hand touched her cheek. "As are you, little one."

She drew back, blushing, and moved on to the next picture. Humans love flattery, but Renata found his sentiments confused her. His affection seemed… undeserved?

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asked.

She shook her head. If he was, there was nothing she could do about it. Best to think of other things. Her fingers leapt from one novelty to another. He did not deny her the pleasure. She felt touched at what he was doing for her. She did not trust him—not yet—but he was clearly trying to mend any ruptures between them. She hummed a little, relishing the beauty around her. It was wonderful for him to have thought of this, art meaning to her what it did. So when he spoke again after several minutes, she found herself almost eager to listen.

"You like my home, little one?"

An odd word choice, surely? But no matter. "Parts of it," she said carefully. "Others, not so much."

He glided closer. "You mean the surroundings or the inhabitants?"

"It depends, I suppose."

His scent honed in on her, baffling and sweet. "But you _do _like it?"

She trembled. "I gave you my answer."

He chuckled, but the sound thinned out too soon. His eyes, previously ruby, swam into onyx. "You realize, of course, that from this point on you cannot leave. You will either die here, or join us if we choose to retain you."

A subtle pain touched her face, but she recovered. "I understand."

Aro smiled, pleased by her complacency. "You are not looking at me, little one," he said softly.

She raised her head.

"Does this not frighten you? Few are chosen."

"I have nothing to lose," she murmured.

"Except your life."

The little, pale face was solemn. "Few have ever respected it. As such, were it not for my uncle, I should not be sorry to leave this world."

Aro tilted his head, a smile gracing his lips. She had such a quiet dignity about her. She was not afraid of him, or at least didn't often exhibit her fear. "You touch me," he said softly. "What cause could one so young have to regret their life?"

She looked away again. "Humans suffer their trials. I have mine, like anyone else."

"And what may those be?"

She shook her head. "I don't wish to say."

"Perhaps not, but you are in _my _abode now, and I think you would do well to respond. What form do these trials take?"

Renata's face paled, the first sign of agitation since they'd entered the galleries. Her dark eyes flickered along the crowded walls, as if silently seeking aid. To unearth those dark memories, some unknown even to Luca himself? She stammered, shaking her head again. "I… I cannot…"

Aro watched her, the temptation to take her hand almost unbearable. But that was not the purpose of the exercise. He wanted her _trust. _Wanted to give her the chance, before he took what belonged to him. He waited, several minutes passing, but no reply escaped those pale lips.

"Renata…"

"I _can't!" _She gave a little moan, turning away entirely. "I have buried those… those matters for too long to—"

"You are evading me, Renata."

"_He _didn't even know!" She whirled, black eyes flashing. "Kill me if you like, my lord, but I _will _not disclose anything."

Aro gazed at her delightedly. However sharp his curiosity, he could not help but admire this strange relation of Luca's. Her courage was so sweet… He had not expected it, even from his recent study of her mind.

"'Will not?'" he whispered. "I trust you know the Coven's opinion of defiance, my _dear?" _

She shivered, saying nothing.

"Come," he said lightly. "I will not pressure you. Let us continue."

The fairytale of treasures continued, hidden in frozen masterpieces and contours sensuous in their cold design. A pair of satyrs leered up at Renata, holding what looked like small sundial between their grubby bodies. She touched her stomach. Come to think of it, she had no idea what time it was. The Volturi had no affinity for clocks, certainly.

"Hungry, love?" Aro asked her.

"I wouldn't decline some nourishment." Her brow puckered worriedly. "That is, if you _have _any…"

Aro took her hand, leading her gently past the silent figures. His palm tingled as her thoughts flowed into him. She hid her past well, certainly, but the rest was free passage. He felt guilty, odd enough, for taking so much without revealing anything to her. But… time. There was _always _more than enough time. As it was, he could only congratulate himself. She had not thought of Luca but once in the past five hours.

Renata followed her strange guardian, equally silent, yet somewhat subdued in her thoughts. She was contemplating the conversation they had had earlier.

How much did he care for her? Or was this a silly question, one better not asked? She did not understand him, nor did she understand her feelings around him. He was immortal. Inexplicable to a maddening degree.

"This way," he whispered, startling her. He opened the door for her, his hand a tingling pressure on the small of her back.

She still hadn't forgiven him, and he hadn't pressed the matter.


	8. Novelty

**_I do apologize for the wait, my dears. Mostly just work, a failing computer, and severe writer's block. But I will be doing much better, don't worry. :) _  
><strong>

**_Love the changes on FF lately! The images for the stories, yes, but mostly the little "comment" box added at the bottom of each chapter. It will make things a lot easier for writers, I think. The word "review" seemed to scare people off. I remember getting PM's like, "I loved your story, but I just don't know how to review." This amused me, I remember, since you don't need to be a hired critic to review. ^^ But the comment box seems to be helping. _**

**_Anyway - I'll stop babbling. R&R! _**

* * *

><p><strong>Novelty <strong>

"_My lodging it is on the cold ground _

_And oh! very hard is my fare, _

_But that which troubles me most is _

_The unkindness of my dear…" _

Renata's fingers moved deftly, weaving the needle in and out of its soft home. She was not patient by nature, so her hours spent in weaving or sewing in the past had been few; restricted to cold, gloomy days, or when the snow was raging outside. She had no thimble, but she did not mind the occasional pricks the needle gave her. The sharp pain was a welcome relief from her gloomy thoughts.

The minute Aro had left, her uncle had come back in full force. It was if a spell had been put on her, numbing the grief, and silencing those thoughts that lay dormant. She felt traitorous for having forgotten Luca so long. Punishing herself was how she chose to cope. The grief took her emotions by storm, appearing in the form of tears, blood, or soft, stricken moans. She gave herself no peace.

"_But that which troubles me most… is the unkindness of my dear." _A tear slipped down her cheek. She stabbed the cloth again, embroidering furiously over her mistake. Her sweet contralto trembled, singing an old English ballad from her early childhood:

"_But if thou wilt harden thy heart still _

_And be deaf to my pitiful moan _

_Then I must endure the smart still _

_And tumble in straw alone _

_Yet still I cry, 'O turn love, _

_And prithee, love, turn to me! _

_For thou art the man that alone art _

_The cause of my misery." _

"Of whom do I speak?" she muttered. "Luca, or the old Masters? No! I can't do it anymore!"

She flung down her occupation, needle and all, and walked to the bed, where she curled up in a soft mound of grey silk and whimsical curls. She was lost to her pain; so much, in fact, she didn't hear anyone enter until Annette stood by her side.

"Did you ask to come in?" Renata snapped.

The girl flushed. "I thought you were asleep."

"Well, you thought wrong. Leave me be."

"Snippy, aren't you? But you need the nourishment. I brought dinner for you."

Renata mumbled in the negative, rolling away from her. She had no interest in anything, anyone. Perhaps later, when the weakness of her body betrayed her, but not now. The magic of the galleries had faded. Resentment burned in her heart, mingling with the equally bitter taste of pain. It was easier to have enmity towards Aro when he wasn't actually _there._ Why, she could hardly say. She did not care.

Annette must have left, for a breeze whispered across Renata's back, signifying the closing of the door. She rose up immediately, not wanting to wallow in her feelings any longer. She had to see Aro—no, she _needed _to see him. She could not stay here any longer. Luca must be half mad with worry… and here she was, lazily accepting services from a strange people she could no longer play guest to.

The door was not locked, as she'd feared. She kicked off her heeled slippers (not only uncomfortable, but noisy), and crept down the hallway, her skirt fluttering a little behind her as she went.

The question was, where would one look for a Master? The throne seemed the most logical place. She had last seen him as he bid her farewell, before Demetri's irritating presence escorted her to a small sort of dining room. The hallway had declined slightly when they returned… so perhaps the throne room itself was on a higher level? _Were _there levels? If so, how many?

Renata stopped abruptly. Her dark eyes glanced down the corridor behind her, then moved despairingly to the one she was following. She'd just passed that statue. She was _sure _she'd passed it.

"But how can I tell?" she moaned. When every torch and every doorway and every godforsaken stone block looked just the same…

Renata gnawed her finger, furious at her stupidity. _Why _hadn't she asked Annette when she had the chance? Oh, _confound _her pride!

She whirled around, intent on searching just a little farther, when a hard force knocked her backwards, sending her sprawling ungracefully on the stone floor.

"Oh!"

The pain blurred her mind for a moment, eclipsing all fear of her attacker. The nerve in her left elbow tingled, sending stars spinning under her eyelids.

"Ohhh…" She would have risen, but a cold pressure snaked along her waist, pulling her carefully, if firmly, to her feet.

"You mustn't run in these hallways," chuckled a voice. "Even I have no knowledge of _whom _I might bump into!"

Renata gazed upward, dazed. The stranger's golden hair was radiant in the torchlight; it created its own aura about his lovely, sculpted face. He was a vampire. There was no doubt of that. But there was something wrong… or right? She stared harder, wondering if she was becoming unhinged in the head.

Her "attacker" looked at her concernedly. "I didn't hurt you, did I? Let me see that bruise..."

Strong fingers probed up and down her arm, lightening to a feathery touch whilst they examined the ugly, bluish-yellow patch. "You must have struck the nerve," he said authoritatively.

She wasn't listening. But she believed him. "You're not one of them," she said. "Who are you?"

The vampire's lips opened in surprise, then a ripple of honeyed laughter issued forth. "Oh, forgive me!" He tucked the papers he was carrying under his arm, and reached for her hand. She gave it, and his grasp was cool and sincere. "I am Carlisle. Guest to the Volturi. You are right; I'm not a member of their coven." Again, the sweet laughter. "Not technically, anyway."

"Renata," she murmured, slipping her hand from his. He had not hurt her; she was simply overcome with embarrassment. It was like meeting Aro for the first time.

Carlisle smiled, his eyes bewildered. "I don't recall—have you been here very long?"

"Have you?"

"Several months only. I thought I had been introduced to everyone…" The incredible eyes softened. "Ah... I remember. They wish you to join them."

Renata wavered. "How—how did you know?"

He pointed obligingly. "You came from _that _corridor. It is one of more pleasant areas of the fortress, especially fitted for guests of your purpose, as I understand. The other intended—"

His pale hand lifted suddenly, brushing his mouth. He had clearly said too much. His tone faded to one of courtly politeness. "Have you eaten recently, _Signorina?" _

"I have no stomach for food."

"Well, that isn't healthy, now is it?" He offered his arm to her. "Please."

He looked so comical, like a beautiful, disheveled secretary. She almost laughed. "I really don't feel like eating," she said, a smile tugging at her lips.

"At least let me put some ice on that bruise, dear."

She laughed, then. "What are you? A doctor?"

"That is my wish. I'm studying for it, you see." He gestured awkwardly, careful not to let the papers fall again. His pale fingers graced over an inked label. "Dr. Thomas Syndenham. One of the less primitive in area of 16th century medicine. I hope to improve on his ideas, and perhaps write essays of my own."

Renata's eyes roved over the young student, amused at the combination of dignity and insecurity. Of course, "young" was perhaps the wrong word to use. Who could possibly guess with immortals? But she was absolutely certain this time. Appearance-wise, he couldn't be more than five years older than she.

Carlisle saw the way she was looking at him. A very faint color tinted his cheekbones, the blood in his body not enough for a healthy flush. "Yes, I am young," he admitted. "I was only twenty-three when the transformation came to me. But I have endless time now, and I am eager to learn." Again, he offered his arm. "Come," he urged gently. "I would enjoy the company."

Renata acquiesced, if hesitantly. She couldn't imagine why this handsome vampire would find _her _company stimulating. She naturally withdrew from strangers, using shyness to cloak her natural intelligence and ease in conversation. Children, of course, poised no problem. She loved them dearly. It was the adults, or those her own age, who puzzled her. Other than Luca, she had never had much to do with the outside world. This fact had distressed him, though she often wondered if he was secretly pleased by it.

"You don't get out enough, Renata," he would scold lightly. "You are a fine young lady." A smile broke his thoughtful expression. "I know! What if you were to have a party—a sort of "coming out" ball?"

"Coming out of _what, _Uncle?" she'd laughed.

"I hardly know… isn't that what they call it?"

"Uncle, I am as ignorant on the customs of feminine etiquette as you are. I care for none of them."

His fingers played with her hair, tucking a stray curl behind one ear. "You are alone too much, _bambina." _

"I have you."

"Spending your hours with an old man does not suit."

"You are not old!" She knelt at his feet, kissing his hand. "I love no one more."

_I love no one more. _Walking down the hallway with Carlisle, Renata found herself unable to escape these memories. If she were not careful, her emotion would betray itself. And it would not do to cry. She would not _allow _herself to cry.

The young vampire felt her hand tremble. His eyes flickered down at her, but he chose to remain silent. She was such a queer, little thing. Very sweet, but there was something distinctly tragic about her. She could have come straight from a novel, he thought, what with her windblown curls and that strange, lost look in her eyes…

"This is my room," he said, halting. He withdrew his arm slowly, his fingers pressing against the door. Opening it, he stepped aside, once more acting the gentleman.

"After you."

Renata bowed her head. _"Grazie," _she murmured.

The room was certainly different from the rest of the fortress. She wanted to say "rooms," but what had she to compare it to? Her own humble abode? The Masters had their own rooms, she was sure, as did the rest of the Coven, but she had never seen them; in fact, she doubted very much that she would be granted such a privilege.

"You don't like darkness?" she asked.

Carlisle laughed, setting his papers down carefully. Everything in the room had some sort of buoyancy to it—a lightness. Even the furniture—the English Davenport in the corner, the curtain posts, or the chest of drawers he laid his papers on—was carved from light-colored, cheery wood, most likely oak or ash. Renata wandered over to the "window", brushing her fingers over creamy material that opened to nothingness.

_I feel… happy here. At peace. Why is the rest of the fortress so different? _

Once again, Carlisle seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. "The Masters tastes are different," he said. "Though Aro certainly shares my love for the historic and antique, I prefer a simpler, less severe environment." His smile was warm. "Blame it on my studies. Would a patient be happy here, do you think?"

Her affirmative was a sweet smile. "You will make a wonderful physician, I'm sure, _Signo—"_

"Oh, none of that," he interrupted, chuckling. "Sometimes I feel so hard pressed for informality. Just _Carlisle, _please."

Renata felt touched. It was, after all, the second time someone had given her the right to their name. "You are from England," she said softly.

He looked up. "Yes, indeed. The east end of London, to be exact. Heavens, how I hated living there!"

Renata nodded. "The smog is anything but pleasant."

"You know London?" he asked, curious.

"I spent my early childhood there."

Softly, "You were not happy there."

She stiffened defensively.

He spread a large, white hand over hers. "I did not mean to pry. You have such a—I don't know—a _tragic _way about you. Aro and I both think so."

Had they been talking about her behind her back? "Oh? What does he think?"

"That is all he told me; your name and family, and that you'd had a bittersweet past. But, of course," he lifted a piece of paper, glancing tersely over the contents. "He would know a great deal more than I."

Renata watched him, following the movement of his tapered fingers over parchment. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Carlisle stared at her. "I… beg your pardon?"

She rose, a rare seed of temper blossoming. "I asked you, what are you talking about? What does Aro know?"

The young vampire rose with her, the sleeve of his jacket brushing some documents to the floor. "If I have offended you—"

"He knows _nothing! _No one does!" She realized, quite suddenly, that the emotion she was feeling was not rage. It was fear. She _had _to ensure Aro knew nothing; that he had respected her privacy.

She looked back up at Carlisle. He was standing quite still, an expression of pity on his face.

"You don't know—" he began.

"I don't know what?"

His eyes seemed to catch something in her face, for his tone changed abruptly. "You don't know how… _sorry _I am to have upset you." He took her elbow gently, guiding her to her seat. She let him, the familiar, lost look fading back into her face.

"I have to know," she mumbled. "Don't you see? I have to—"

"Hush," he said kindly, sitting across from her. "He knows nothing. Forget my words."

She took a deep breath. Carlisle watched her politely, waiting for her to speak, then returned to work, dabbing the tip of a quill lightly to his tongue.

Renata watched him, letting the calmness of his attitude seep into her, as well. It was a pleasant thing, observing him. His fair head glowed in the candlelight, the soft hues outlining his right shoulder, arm, and hand. So deep in concentration was he, the quill feather brushed his cheek, bent as he was over his work.

"You draw very well," she commented.

He smiled, turning the page so it was easier for her to view. His clear, elegant handwriting filled the page, yet still made room for the series of detailed sketches off to the right.

"Is this the hand?" she asked, pointing.

"Yes. The muscles to be exact. And these are the bones and various tissues." His eyes glinted with excitement. "I was privileged enough to witness a dissection several weeks ago in Göttingen, a German university. The body they used was quite fresh, unlike some, so I was able to acquire some excellent notes."

Renata found the subject distasteful, but she did not like to say so. "And such lovely handwriting," she continued. "My uncle used to despair at mine. But I'm happy to say I've improved." She frowned, her spirits falling slightly.

It was now Carlisle's turn to change the subject. "So… Renata… I understand you're an art lover? What sort of work engrosses your study?"

They talked at length, the sound of her laugh occasionally merging with his. It was surprisingly easy, she thought, to be happy. She couldn't remember when she'd last felt so comfortable with a stranger.

He led her from his chamber after several minutes, showing her a particularly fine piece that hung outside. He lifted a hand gracefully, gesturing to various aspects, while she listened intently.

"But then, I am not so in love with _chiaroscuro, _as you are," he said, smiling down at her.

Renata started, forgetting what he'd said for a moment. She had finally discovered what it was—what set him apart from the rest.

"Your eyes," she murmured.

Carlisle glanced up. "Mm?"

She leaned closer, not shy for once. His irises stared back at her, deep and warm as honey. "Your eyes… they are not like the others. Why?"

"Oh." The vampire chuckled. "There's quite a story behind that."

Renata leaned back again. "I'm listening."

Carlisle looked at her, pretending to be annoyed. "And _how _am I supposed to study, then?"

She laughed, loving the sound. _So easy… _

"Please," she said. "Tell me."


	9. Forbidden

***cackles, then hums innocently* Hey! I _did _post a chapter, didn't I? *snickers* **

**REVIEW!**

* * *

><p><strong>Forbidden<strong>

Renata walked back to her chambers in a haze, barely noticing the corridors in front of or behind her. Her feet, garbed in the heeled slippers of the day, clicked quietly on the stone. Her mind was a daze, melting from one thought into another.

"_It is not a well-known practice. Rather, it is abhorred by our kind. Particularly the Volturi…" _

Her lips parted, smiling. What a beautiful idea. What a strange, yet beautiful idea.

"_It is hard." He smiled sadly. "But it is the way I have chosen." _

She opened the door to her simple chamber, closing it behind her and leaning on it. Yes. It would take someone like Carlisle to think of something so perfect.

Sighing softly, she moved away from the door, walking to the small, antique closet against the back wall. It had been late summer when this bizarre, frightening adventure had all started. Now the crisp winds of autumn were coming, bringing hints of a colder winter than Volterra and the surrounding regions had seen in a long time.

Renata pulled a warm, emerald-colored cloak about her shoulders, shivering. There was a grate in her room, but so far there had been no need to have it lit. She missed the great, roaring fires of her uncle's household. There were always a few burning somewhere in the mansion, cozy and crackling, even in the sweltering days of summer.

"_It is the way I have chosen." _

"Could I do it?" she whispered aloud. She wondered if Luca had ever known what she knew now. She wondered if he even cared. It seemed strange, imagining someone as intelligent as her uncle not knowing _everything _there was to know about his own life.

"And I could do it," she went on, excitedly, to herself. "I wouldn't be harming anyone, with such a choice."

She wrapped her arms about herself, another shiver shaking her thin body. Would a fire _really _be too much to ask? Her eyes swiveled about the drab room, lingering hesitantly on a few candles, then turning away. What was the use? There was no wood in the fireplace. There wasn't even any paper she could tear up. She huddled deeper into the cloak.

After several minutes she stood, walking quickly to the door. Her numb fingers had some difficulty with the knob, but she managed to exit the room, rattling the knob of the one next door. It was locked, obviously, but after about three more tries, she was finally granted access.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips. There was wood in this room—wood in generous amounts, stacked up in neat piles by a similarly dusty grate. She walked towards it quickly, gathering what little she could in her delicate arms, and carrying it back to her cold chambers. It took three trips before her fireplace was adequately filled.

Then came the quandary of finding a match. Thankfully, one of the torches outside sufficed, although it was quite a bit of trouble, just carrying the awful, cumbersome thing to and fro. When the first spark of flame appeared, she was almost in tears with relief. Within ten minutes, heat was permeating the room, all derived from the healthy, vibrant glow in the corner.

Renata sank down in front of it, rubbing her cold fingers together. Once the warmth in her blood had been sufficiently restored, she lapsed again into deep thought.

Should she tell Aro? Or would he be angry by her choice?

Then again, she reasoned, Carlisle was a friend of his. Why would the doctor _be _here… if his philosophy was so unwelcome to his friend? Surely Aro knew, and understood. If so, then he would understand _her,_ as well…

"Renata?"

The familiar, slightly nasal voice pulled Renata out of her thoughts. She turned, and saw Aro's lean, snowy-haired brother standing in the doorway.

"My lord!" She scrambled quickly to her feet, trying not to trip over her own skirts in the process.

"Are you cold?" he asked. There was no sympathy in his voice.

"Not at all, my lord."

His glanced caustically at the fire, then back at her. "Mm. Enjoying your stay, so far?"

"I… I suppose so."

"I hear you have becoming acquainted with our other guest, Carlisle Cullen."

A tiny smile touched her lips. "How did you kno—"

"And I am ever so curious to know…" he walked further into the room, "what it is, _exactly,_ that you talked of?"

She gaped a little, unsure of what to say. The Volturi lord walked with a careless elegance, his feet making no sound on the floor. The sourness of his expression allowed only the smallest bit of amusement, but nothing else.

"Well?" He sat down, his hand moving the blankets aside impatiently.

Renata remained standing. She felt… safer, that way. "We… we talked of his work. Medicine, art…"

His eyes bored into her. What did he want to hear? "He was very kind."

"Did he mention anything else to you?"  
>She felt afraid, for some reason. "I… there were some things—"<p>

"Have you _entirely _lostyour ability to communicate?" he snapped suddenly. "My brother has overestimated your intelligence, as he always does."

She took a quick, offended breath. She spoke more coherently, but her words were rushed, stumbling over each other. "His eyes were different. I asked him why, and he explained his… his way of life. That is all. I swear it."

A small sneer. "'That is all'?"

_Dio, _but he made her sound like a fool. Everything about his person offended her; from the possessive way he lounged on her bed to the mocking, cruel gaze he gave her.

"You are impressed with him," he said, matter-of-factly. "You compare him to us, and you prefer _his _company."

"That is not—"

"You are disgusted with us now."

"My lord, I swear—"

He stood, taking a step towards her. "You are fascinated with this way of life. You wish to follow it, and you are planning to ask my brother for permission."

She trembled. "I merely wanted—"

Another step. Then the ancient's hand lashed out, smiting the young woman soundly across the face. She gasped.

"You _wanted?!" _he snarled. "Is there nothing you selfish mortals _never _want?!"

Renata cried out in pain, the iciness of his hand like a white-hot brand on her cheek. He continued to advance, the blows falling one after another, humiliating even as his words.

"Stop it!" she begged. "I beg you! Stop!"

He was shouting in her face, his finger twined painfully in her hair. She cringed against the wall, trying to shield her small body. "Please!"

His face was thrust into hers. She could not look away. "You will not see the wretch again!" he hissed. "You will not _speak _to him!"

She couldn't see through her tears. "P-please…"

"Enough, brother," breathed a silky voice. "You will damage our little flower."

Renata collapsed to the floor, sobbing in terror. An incensed Caius turned to face his brother.

"How _dare _you—"

"Really, brother," Aro laughed. His wine-red eyes glittered with amusement. "Are the rooms I provided for you not sufficient for your twisted little maneuvers? Must you also invade the privacy of my guests?"

He gestured to the trembling body, her dark hair covering her face, which was turned to the wall. "The poor, _dear _child!"

"And what of it?" Caius snarled. "She will break, and we will change her. I will beat these perverted theories…" He spat. "This, this _poison_ out of her system, if I have to break every bone in her body!"

"Perverted theories? Petty threats?" Aro's mirth knew no bounds. "You are theatrical, Caius. So like myself." He leaned closer, lowering his voice so Renata could not hear. "Do not think I don't know the _true _reason of your interest."

He breezed past his brother, kneeling next to Renata's shaking form. "Piccola?"

She looked up, and he cooed at the bruised flesh. "Oh, my little one." He cupped her face tenderly, kissing her forehead. "You are all right. You will come with me now."

She rose, as if hypnotized, taking his hand with a quiet sniffle. A quick glance over her shoulder assured her that Aro's brother had, indeed gone. Indiscreetly, as was his wont, yet leaving the usual whimpering and shudders behind him.

"Why?" she said, her eyes filling again.

"Shh…"

His cold hand squeezed hers gently. His nails were filed perfectly, the smooth, lavender crescents lightly scratching her skin.

"But—"

"Hush, my love."

His cloak whispered around an open door, tugging her with him. Her skirts were dusty from kneeling on the floor, smeared with her tears. She acknowledged this dully, glancing about at her surroundings with swollen eyes. They were in a leisure room of some sort; most likely an area for receiving guests.

_Am I a guest? _she thought, recalling Aro's rebuke at his brother. _Am I a guest? Or just a temporary amusement? _She felt like a little mouse, jumping to every wrong conclusion, ready to flee at the first opportunity.

But they had said she was important, an asset to them. Eleazar, Aro…

_Vampires are liars, Renata. Even your uncle couldn't tell you the truth. _

She pressed her hands to her temples, exhaling heavily. Aro helped her gently into a cushioned chair, giving her a look of fatherly concern. He seated himself a comfortable distance from her, yet close enough to reach over and pat her hand occasionally. His cloak flowed gracefully past his crossed legs, pooling slightly on the floor. He removed it after a moment of silence, draping it behind him over the chair.

"Now," he said kindly. "Suppose you tell me what happened?"

She sniffed slightly. It did not take long to tell him, though she obviously did so with some trepidation, considering the last reaction she had received. At the mention of Carlisle's name, Aro beamed, his expression akin to a teacher doting on his favorite pupil. When she brought up Carlisle's bizarre diet, Aro sighed, shaking his head regretfully. But it was only when she hesitantly began to describe her _own_ intentions that he began, very slightly, to shed his giddy exterior.

"How interesting," he said sweetly. He watched the promising young woman nurse her bruised cheek. His hand patted hers. "You worry for your safety, little one?"

"I did not mean to antagonize him—"

"If every being to antagonize Caius were to apologize to me, love, I should never hear the end of it." Aro chuckled slightly, then turned serious. _"Are _you disgusted by us, _piccola?" _

She stared at him for a moment. Had he overheard the entire conversation? "I… I would not say that, my lord. But… I do believe there are, well, _better _ways to handle things."

"And you have decided Carlisle's methods are better?"

Hesitation. Then, "Yes, my lord."

Aro sighed, running pale fingers across his forehead.

"Please, my lord," she said hurriedly. _"Please _give me a choice in this. I've asked for many favors, I know, but… but if you were to do this for me, I _promise_ you that—"

"Renata." He cut her off gently. "Did your uncle consume human blood?"

"I… I do not know, my lord. I never saw him."

"Do you believe he did?"

"I _know_ he did," she whispered.

"And how do you deduce that?" he asked patiently.

"His eyes… they are like yours. Dr. Cullen's are different."

His hand patted hers again. "Very good, love."

Renata gazed at him hopefully. When he said no more, she slid to the carpet at his feet, praying that the kind expression in his eyes would not fade. "My lord…"

He sighed. "Get up, my child."

"Please…"

"Do as I tell you."

"My lord." She gave the two words the sweetest intonation, grasping one of his hands in hers. Her eyes were shimmering again, twin pearls ready to fall. She could not remember ever crying so much. She wished he did not have to see her cry. "In the name of Heaven, please… don't make me do this."

"Another child of the theater!" The ancient sighed in exasperation. "Shall I _never _see the end of it?"

"Don't make me kill them," she begged. "I'll do anything."

"A noble promise," he said sarcastically. The faint smile lines were beginning to fade around his eyes.

Her lips caressed his fingers. The bruise on her right cheek accentuated her sad and desperate appearance, along with the lank, unattractive locks hanging by her eyes. She whispered, pleaded, begged. Her dignity lie curled on the floor beside her.

"Please…"

"Enough," he said suddenly.

She could feel him rising. Almost in the same instant, a cold vise closed about each of her arms, gentle yet frightening in its very power. He set her back in her chair firmly, smoothing back the hair from her eyes. She gazed, wide-eyed, as he bent over her, all benevolence gone from his eyes.

"You are never to speak of this again," he said softly. "Whether it is of the good doctor, or repetitive pleas for favors. Do you understand?"

She nodded silently.

"You are not to speak to Dr. Cullen again. If you are seen in his company, the consequences will be instantaneous. Do you understand me, Renata?"

"Yes, my lord," she whispered. "I understand you."

He petted her cheek, the gesture subtly possessive. "Good girl." He removed his hand, kissing the ugly bruise gently. "I am proud of you."

She smiled at him, the pit of her stomach twisting in a sick knot.


End file.
